LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OP 
CAUPOHNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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f 


.  B.CLARKE 


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30  COURT  SO  Rn<5Tnw 


THE  BREAKING-POINT 


THE  BREAKING-POINT 

A    NOVEL 


BY 


FRED  LEWIS   PATTEE 

ACTHOR  OF    "MARY  GARVIN,"  "THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  BLACK  RING," 
"  A  HISTORY  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE,"    ETC.,  ETC. 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1912 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


If  beauty  have  a  soul." 

—  Troilus  and  Cressida. 


CHAPTER 
I 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  WOMAN  WHICH  WAS  IN  THE  CITY,  A 

SINNER i 

THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  AS  THEY  LOOK    .     31 

AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND 49 

THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS  ....  78 
A  SETTER  FORTH  OF  STRANGE  GODS  .  99 

SOULS  INSURGENT 127 

THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST 149 

THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY  .  .  .  170 
THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  .  .  .  192 

THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING 206 

THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY 221 

LOVE  is  THE  SOUL 247 

THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     ....  260 

FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS 285 

THE  ETERNAL  Two 301 

As  A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING  .  .  322 
THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE  .  .  334 
AND  THE  SOUL  THOU  HAST  SAVED  THY 

SOUL  SHALT  SAVE 345 

THE  FIELD  is  THE  WORLD  ....  364 
THE  MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION  .  .  373 
LOVE  AND  DEATH 388 


THE    BREAKING-POINT 

CHAPTER   I 

A  WOMAN  WHICH  WAS  IN  THE  CITY,  A  SINNER 

JOHN  GALTS  blue  Monday  had  begun 
early.  The  reaction  had  come  before  his 
Sunday  evening  audience  had  left  the  church. 
As  he  groped  his  way  through  the  dim  passage 
to  the  pastor's  room,  where  he  had  left  his  coat 
and  hat,  it  came  upon  him  overwhelmingly  that 
his  evening  and  his  week  and  indeed  his  whole 
pastorate  had  been  a  failure.  "What's  the 
use  ?"  His  lips  were  forming  the  words  almost 
automatically.  "Why  throw  one's  work  away  ? 
Why  preach  at  all?" 

He  closed  the  door  to  the  little  room  and  sank 
into  a  chair  spent  and  miserable.  And  yet  only 
an  hour  ago,  when  he  had  hung  up  that  coat 
and  hat,  how  different  it  had  all  been!  How 
he  had  thrilled  with  the  truth  and  the  urge  of 
his  message !  How  it  had  burned  within  him ! 
Life  was  a  tremendous  thing;  his  work  was 


2  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

glorious.  And  now  a  few  moments  later  he 
was  ready  to  give  up  the  fight. 

What  had  happened? 

He  was  a  young  man,  scarce  thirty,  sensitive 
as  young  men  are,  introspective  almost  to  mor- 
bidness, and  he  began  to  dissect  his  soul. 

"Pshaw !"  His  thin  lips  curled  with  a  sneer. 
"It's  nothing  but  vanity.  You  wanted  them 
to  praise  you,  and  they  didn't." 

And  yet  he  had  preached  with  a  power  that 
was  unusual  to  him,  he  knew  that.  The  sub- 
ject had  appealed  to  him ;  somehow  it  had  taken 
possession  of  him  as  few  of  his  sermon  themes 
ever  had.  It  had  haunted  his  week,  and  had 
ground  itself  over  and  over  in  his  brain  at 
night  when  he  was  wakeful  and  his  head  was 
clear.  He  had  entitled  it  in  the  newspaper 
announcement,  "Christ  and  Erring  Woman- 
hood," the  third  in  his  series  of  Sunday  evening 
talks  on  "Christ  and  Society."  Owing  to  the 
theme,  perhaps,  the  audience  had  been  larger 
than  usual,  and  the  fact  had  stimulated  him. 
He  had  never  felt  his  brain  more  clear,  his  zeal 
more  fervent,  his  message  more  burning,  than 
when  he  had  arisen  to  preach.  He  had  spoken 
the  truth;  he  had  presented  it  with  eloquence 
and  power;  and  it  had  seemed  to  him  as  he 
stepped  down  from  the  pulpit  glowing  with  his 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  3 

message,  his  face  radiant,  his  heart  overflowing 
with  love  for  all  men,  that  all  the  Christians 
in  the  house  should  have  pressed  to  him  like 
eager  crusaders,  and  have  volunteered  with 
heart  and  soul  in  the  fight  for  Christ  and  pure 
womanhood  and  the  rescue  of  the  lost.  But 
there  had  been  no  sign  of  anyone's  having  heard 
a  word  that  he  had  said. 

Mrs.  Bailey,  a  business-like  little  figure, 
leader  of  the  church  women,  had  been  the  first 
to  speak.  She  had  come  bustling  to  the  altar 
rail  as  if  she  really  should  be  in  three  different 
places  at  that  moment. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  had  begun 
impetuously.  "I  am  so  sorry  that  you  forgot 
about  the  missionary  collection.  We  expected 
you  would  break  your  series  to-night,  and  give 
us  a  good  rousing  sermon.  It's  our  North 
China  Mission ;  so  very  important.  How  could 
you  forget  it  ?"  She  held  up  a  plump  finger  and 
smiled  at  him  reprovingly. 

"  But  that  doesn't  come  until  next  Sunday," 
he  replied. 

"Ah,  but  it  should  be  prepared  for.  We 
always  have  had  a  preparatory  sermon.  You 
could  have  made  it  such  a  stirring  one.  And 
with  all  that  audience  present!  It's  our  very 
most  important  collection.  We  simply  must  do 


4  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

better  than  we  did  last  year.  We  always  have 
made  an  increase." 

"But  there  is  the  mid-week  meeting,"  he  had 
argued.  "I  can  announce  it  then.  I  will  make 
a  note  of  it." 

"Oh,  it's  too  late  now.  Only  a  handful  goes, 
you  know.  But  I  mustn't  scold."  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  smile  that  was  to  take  the 
sting  from  her  criticism.  "It's  really  my  fault. 
I  should  have  told  you;  of  course  you  did  not 
think.  But  you  could  have  preached  such  a 
helpful  missionary  sermon,  Mr.  Gait.  Really 
it  would  have  doubled  the  collection.  Now  I 
wonder  where  Miss  Piper  has  run  to."  She 
was  off  to  catch  the  chairman  of  the  social  com- 
mittee. 

"Ah,  good  evening,  Mr.  Bradley."  Gait  had 
turned  to  find  an  elderly  man,  erect  and  self- 
possessed,  with  a  smooth  face  and  an  abundance 
of  iron-gray  hair  who  had  evidently  been  wait- 
ing for  Mrs.  Bailey  to  finish. 

"Just  a  word,  Pastor.  I  have  only  a  mo- 
ment." He  spoke  with  conciseness.  Business 
was  written  in  every  movement  and  feature. 
One  felt  instantly  that  he  was  a  man  who  com- 
manded and  was  obeyed,  who  dealt  with  affairs 
in  the  large,  who  waited  not  a  moment,  and  who 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  5 

spoke  words  the  slightest  accent  of  which  should 
be  noted. 

"I  am  afraid,  Pastor,  your  sermon  to-night 
was  a  little  too  plain."  He  lowered  his  voice 
as  if  fearful  of  being  overheard.  "It's  rather  a 
dangerous  subject  to  handle  before  such  an 
audience,  don't  you  think  ?  And  in  your  enthu- 
siasm, perhaps,  you  said  more  than  you  really 
intended." 

"Why — ah — "  The  pastor  stammered  and 
stopped.  The  unexpectedness  of  the  criticism 
took  his  breath  away.  Then,  too,  there  was  a 
directness  about  the  man's  words  and  manner 
that  was  really  brutal.  His  tremendous  per- 
sonality had  dominated  every  pastor  of  the 
church  for  thirty  years. 

"I  tell  you  this,  Pastor,  because  you  are  a 
young  man  and  inexperienced  in  city  ways.  A 
sermon  as  blunt  as  that  doesn't  do  any  good. 
It  only  shocks  refined  people.  It  was  a  sermon 
for  an  audience  of  men.  It  might  have  been 
a  powerful  appeal  under  those  conditions." 

"But  the  message  was  for  all — for  every- 
body," the  pastor  burst  out  eagerly.  "It  was  a 
plea  for  purity,  some  of  it  in  Christ's  very 
words ;  it  was  a  call  for  charity  and  self-exami- 
nation." 


6  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Yes,  yes,  but  one  has  to  be  cautious,  Pastor, 
and  not  forget  himself.  You  don't  realize  how 
some  of  the  things  sounded  down  here  in  the 
pews.  And  it  was  too  suggestive  to  the  young 
people,  I'm  afraid — dangerous.  You  ought  to 
know  these  things.  And  another  thing,  Pastor, 
I'm  afraid  you  are  harping  too  much  on  one 
string.  The  people  want  a  change  of  themes — 
constantly.  Evangelistic  sermons  are  neces- 
sary at  times,  but  you  mustn't  run  to  them  too 
much.  Mix  live  topics  with  your  gospel,  Pas- 
tor; that's  what  the  people  want.  You  have 
got  to  adapt  yourself  to  the  times;  the  people 
nowadays  go  to  church  to  learn  the  attitude 
of  the  pulpit  toward  the  questions  of  the  day. 
Preach  on  the  awakening  of  China,  the  settle- 
ment of  the  fisheries  question,  the  San  Fran- 
cisco corruption,  the  street-car  strike,  the  gifts 
of  Rockefeller,  and  things  like  that.  The  peo- 
ple want  their  religion  to  be  a  live  thing;  they 
want  it  to  shed  light  on  their  newspapers. 
Now  don't  be  offended,  but  think  of  it,  Pastor, 
in  the  spirit  in  which  I  offer  it.  I  am  working 
only  for  the  good  of  the  church  and  the  cause, 
and  it  is  my  way  to  speak  right  out  and  not 
beat  about  the  bush.  Good  evening,  Pastor." 

Before  Gait  could  say  a  word  he  was  gone 
like  one  whose  every  moment  is  golden.  The 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  7 

pastor  stood  a  dizzy  moment  and  looked  at  him 
as  he  walked  briskly  down  the  aisle  bowing  this 
way  and  that,  his  broad  back  and  his  stubby 
hair  fairly  bristling  with  decision  and  energy. 
The  North  Street  Church  leaned  heavily  on 
Alderman  Bradley.  He  was  wealthy;  he  was 
one  of  the  most  prominent  business  men  of  the 
city;  for  thirty  years  and  more  he  had  been 
the  most  active  and  influential  member  of  the 
congregation.  When  he  spoke  it  was  as  if  the 
church  itself  was  speaking. 

Thus  it  was  that  in  a  moment  the  mood  of 
John  Gait  had  taken  a  somersault.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  caught  a  moment's  glimpse 
of  the  dial  on  which  was  recorded  the  effect 
of  his  sermon,  and  indeed  the  results  of  his 
entire  preaching,  and  had  found  it  registering 
zero.  And  this  after  his  eager  preparation, 
his  rapt  pleading  from  his  very  soul,  and  his 
sense  of  personal  responsibility  that  at  times 
had  almost  overwhelmed  him.  Why  preach? 
Why  preach  another  sermon  ? 

But  perhaps  the  brother  was  right.  He  was 
older ;  he  knew  men ;  he  had  had  greater  experi- 
ence in  city  life.  Perhaps  indeed  the  sermon 
had  been  too  plain;  perhaps  he  had  been  too 
zealous  and  had  forgotten  himself.  Perhaps 
in  his  eagerness  to  enforce  his  message  he  had 


8  THE  BREAKING-POINT. 

said  what  in  cold  blood  he  might  blush  to  own. 
Automatically  he  pulled  his  notes  from  his 
Bible  and  glanced  them  over.  They  were  mere 
fragmentary  catch-heads : 

The  woman  taken  in  adultery.     Story. 
Text :     Neither  do  I  condemn  thee. 

In  God's  sight  sin  is  without  sex  and  without  gra- 
dation. 

The  sinful  woman  without  help  in  this  modern 
world;  no  refuge,  no  sympathy.  Burns'  "Ye 
banks  and  braes — "  Goldsmith's  "When  lovely 
woman — " 

Not  the  spirit  of  Christ. 

"Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet"  not  spoken  alone 
to  males. 

Nor  does  it  apply  only  to  the  next  world. 

Modern  society  cowardly,  ruled  by  cringing  ques- 
tion: What  will  people  think? 

The  church  in  same  danger. 

Before  you  condemn  the  sinful  woman  throw  into 
your  own  soul  the  limelight  of  Christ's  text: 
Everyone  that  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust 
after  her  hath  committed  adultery  already  with 
her  in  his  heart. 

The  outside  of  the  cup. 

Christ  offered  the  only  ray  of  hope  that  has  ever 
come  to  impure  womanhood,  the  first  in  the 
whole  history  of  society. 

For  the  tragedy  of  womanhood  there  is  a  door  of 
escape. 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  9 

The  church  is  the  person  of  Christ  on  earth.     He 

works  through  church  members. 
In  the  church  of  Christ  lies  the  sole  hope  of  fallen 

women. 

He  arose,  drew  on  his  overcoat  and  went  out 
at  the  side  entrance,  clutching  the  notes  in  his 
hand.  It  was  all  plain  Gospel  that  he  had 
preached ;  he  had  said  nothing  that  Christ  had 
not  said  before  him ;  he  had  said  not  one  word 
that  should  shock  or  displease  any  true  Chris- 
tian heart.  And  the  message  was  a  vital  and 
necessary  one.  The  church  needed  more  of 
charity,  more  of  the  Christ  love  that  could  reach 
down  to  sinful  men.  As  he  stood  on  the  curb- 
ing waiting  for  his  car  the  very  words  he  had 
used  in  his  sermon  began  shaping  themselves 
on  his  lips : 

"If  Christ  could  pardon,  cannot  we?  Shall 
a  soul  that  truly  repents  with  her  whole  soul 
be  refused  all  hope  by  us  because  of  a  past 
deed  ?  When  she  is  ready  by  our  help  to  enter 
the  new  and  higher  pathway  that  leads  to  a 
pure  life  shall  we  refuse  help  because  of  a  mis- 
take in  past  years  ?  Indeed  no.  Let  the  dead 
past  bury  its  dead.  Let  us  forget  it  entirely, 
and  live  each  day  joyously  as  if  there  had  never 
been  a  past." 


io  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

The  clanging  of  an  approaching  street  car 
aroused  him.  He  took  a  nervous  step  forward, 
but  it  was  not  his  car.  It  was  moving  rapidly ; 
in  a  moment  it  would  sweep  around  the 
curve.  He  stepped  back  upon  the  walk  again 
to  wait 

What  happened  next  he  felt  rather  than  saw. 
Something  rushed  swiftly  from  the  darkness 
near  the  church.  It  was  a  woman.  She  was 
plunging  into  the  street.  She  was  trying  to 
board  the  flying  car.  No,  she  was  trying  to 
cross  the  street  right  in  front  of  it.  The  idea 
flashed  into  his  mind  and  he  shouted  at  her  to 
stop.  She  could  not  get  across ;  it  was  madness 
to  try.  Scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  he  made 
a  dash  for  the  front  of  the  car,  and  more  by 
luck  than  anything  else  he  caught  her  wrap 
just  as  she  seemed  to  plunge  under  the  flying 
wheels.  She  fell  heavily,  but  his  pull  at  her 
wrap  changed  the  direction  of  her  fall  and 
saved  her.  The  wheels  flew  by  not  a  foot  from 
her  head.  The  motorman,  who  had  been  clang- 
ing his  bell  furiously,  leaned  far  out  with  fright- 
ened face  to  see  if  she  had  been  mangled. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  lay  perfectly  still. 
Gait  bent  over  her,  his  heart  beating  in  his 
throat. 

"Are  you  hurt  ? — Are  you  hurt  ?"  he  gasped. 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  11 

She  did  not  answer.  She  began  to  sob,  her 
hands  pressed  tightly  over  her  face. 

"Come — come  to  the  sidewalk,"  he  said  rap- 
idly. "There's  another  car  coming.  Come." 
He  lifted  her  up,  and  she  went  with  him  blindly. 
The  first  car  had  stopped;  the  conductor  came 
running  back. 

"She  done  that  on  purpose,"  he  said  sharply. 
"I  saw  it.  I  wa'n't  to  blame  for  it.  She  done 
it  on  purpose.  You  call  a  policeman." 

A  crowd  was  beginning  to  gather. 

"No,  no;  she  fell."  Gait  was  on  the  defen- 
sive before  he  realized  what  he  was  doing. 
"She  tried  to  cross  the  street."  The  woman 
was  clinging  to  his  arm  giddily.  Her  breath 
still  came  in  convulsive  sobs.  After  a  moment 
she  began  automatically  to  adjust  her  hat. 

"No,  sir.  She  done  it  on  purpose,  I  tell  ye." 
There  was  an  excited  ring  in  the  conductor's 
voice.  The  vision  of  a  complaint,  or  a  law  suit 
against  the  company  and  his  own  dismissal  was 
rising  before  him.  "I  was  standing  on  the 
back  step  and  was  looking  right  at  her.  We 
began  ringing  at  her  a  block  up.  Here,  Mister, 
you  saw  her;  I  saw  you  on  the  walk."  He 
pointed  at  a  tall  youth  who  was  puffing  lazily 
at  a  cigarette. 

"Yes,  I  saw  her  all  right,"  the  man  drawled. 


12  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Give  me  your  name  and  address,"  cried  the 
conductor  eagerly. 

The  crowd  was  getting  larger.  A  second 
car  had  halted  behind  the  first.  A  policeman 
had  come  and  was  questioning  the  conductor 
Gait  for  a  moment  looked  sharply  at  the  womar 
who  seemed  to  be  dazed  and  unable  to  speak  01 
think,  then  by  a  sudden  impulse  he  took  he 
arm. 

"Come,"    he    whispered    intensely.     "Com 
with  me — quick." 

He  started  blindly  up  the  sidewalk,  and  in 
moment  they  were  free  of  the  crowd.     Tl 
policeman  would  not  find  them  now :  they  we 
simply  a  man  and  woman  walking  along  tl 
street;  but  for  some  blocks  Gait  drew  her  aloi; 
rapidly  as  if  they  were  pursued.     Then  he  t  - 
gan  to  think.     What  next?    Where  was  z 
going?    What  of  this  woman?     He  began  > 
walk    more    slowly.     Who    was    she?    Se 
seemed  too  much  agitated  to  talk  or  eveno 
think.     Her  breath  still  came  in  sharp,  indra  n 
sobs  like  that  of  a  child  who  has  cried  a  kg 
time. 

"  That  was  a  narrow  escape,"  he  saidat 
length.     "That  was  an  awfully  narrow  esoe, 
but  you've  come  out  of  it  all  right,  and  yo 
got  a  good  deal  to  be  thankful  for.     Now  if  ou 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  13 

will  tell  me  where  you  live  I  will  see  that  you 
get  home  as  quickly  as  possible.  You  are  un- 
strung, and  it's  no  wonder.  You  ought  not 
to  walk/' 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  did  not  seem  to  hear 
him.  She  leaned  upon  his  arm  heavily  and 
walked  along  simply  because  he  led  her. 

"Perhaps  you  were  really  hurt,"  he  said,  a 
sudden  idea  coming  to  him.  "Were  you?" 
He  looked  down  at  her  anxiously.  Her  hat 
concealed  her  face. 

Again  she  said  nothing.  Perhaps  she  did 
not  understand  English. 

"Your  home?  your  address?  your  street?" 
He  spoke  the  words  with  eager  distinctness. 
"Where  do  you  live?  I  will  call  a  carriage. 
Your  name  ?  Your  street  and  number  ?  I  will 
take  you  right  home." 

"No,  no !"  She  broke  out  with  the  words  so 
suddenly  that  it  startled  him.  "You  mustn't — 
you  can't.  Let  me  go  now."  With  a  quick 
movement  she  tried  to  pull  away  from  him,  but 
filled  with  the  idea  that  she  was  injured  and  not 
in  her  right  mind,  he  clung  to  her  and  tried  to 
reason. 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't,"  he  pleaded.  "You 
have  had  a  great  shock;  you  are  not  well.  I 
mustn't  let  you  go  alone." 


i4  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

She  ceased  to  struggle  and  began  to  sob 
again. 

The  pastor  was  perplexed.  What  was  the 
matter  with  the  woman  ?  Why  should  the  mere 
escape  from  an  accident  have  wrought  her  up 
like  this?  Then  in  a  flash  the  words  of  the 
conductor  came  to  him.  She  had  tried  to  take 
her  own  life.  She  had  been  wrung  to  the  pitch 
of  self-destruction  before  he  had  seen  her.  She 
had  all  but  succeeded.  No  wonder  she  was 
unnerved.  He  looked  at  her  as  for  the  first 
time.  He  could  see  that  she  was  tall  and  that 
she  was  well,  even  expensively,  dressed.  She 
had,  he  noted,  a  dainty  fur  and  muff,  and  her 
hat  was  large  and  of  the  latest  fashion.  He 
could  not  see  her  face. 

As  she  clung  to  his  arm  he  felt  that  she  was 
trembling. 

"Why,  you  are  really  ill;  you  are  injured," 
he  burst  out  in  sudden  alarm.  "You  ought  not 
to  walk.  I  will  call  a  carriage  this  moment, 
and  take  you  to  your  friends."  He  stopped  and 
looked  up  and  down  the  street  as  if  for  help. 

"No."  With  startling  suddenness  the 
woman  came  to  life.  She  drew  away  from 
him  with  a  quick  movement  and  stood  erect. 
"I  am  quite  myself  now,"  she  said  with  dignity. 
"I  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done.  Now 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  15 

I  will  go.  I  am  quite  able  to  find  my  way. 
Good  night."  She  started  down  the  walk. 

"No,  no,"  he  cried,  overtaking  her.  "I  will 
go  with  you." 

"It  is  quite  unnecessary,  sir.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  need  of  it."  She  looked  at  him  for 
the  first  time.  It  was  a  girl's  face,  fresh  and 
appealing,  a  quite  remarkable  face  as  he  saw  it 
under  the  electric  lights.  It  flashed  upon  him 
that  she  must  be  an  actress.  Her  costume,  her 
hair  as  he  glimpsed  it  under  her  hat,  her  bril- 
liant beauty,  all  proclaimed  it. 

"But  it  is  not  safe  for  you  to  go  alone." 

"Why?"  There  was  a  flash  in  her  eyes  as 
she  faced  him. 

"You  have  just  had  a  great  shock.  You  are 
really  ill—" 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  am  perfectly  myself. 
I  no  longer  need  your  help.  I  am  grateful  for 
what  you  have  done,  but  now  you  will  let  me 
go."  She  turned  from  him  imperiously. 

"Wait!  One  moment!"  The  pastor  hesi- 
tated but  a  single  instant.  His  duty  was  clear. 
This  woman  only  a  moment  before  had 
attempted  suicide.  The  cause  for  the  deed  was 
still  in  operation.  If  he  let  her  go  now  she 
would  try  it  again. 

"Before  I  can  let  you  go,"  he  cried,  "I  must 


16  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

ask  you  one  question:  did  you  not  attempt  to 
take  your  life?  Answer  me."  There  was 
sternness  in  his  voice. 

The  instant  change  in  the  woman  almost 
frightened  him.  She  wheeled  upon  him  with 
a  snarl. 

''Yes/'  she  hissed,  "I  did.  That's  just  what 
I  did,  and  I  wish  to  God  I'd  done  it.  You 
hadn't  any  business  to  come  butting  in;  you 
hadn't  any  right  to.  My  God,  I'd  have  been 
out  of  it  now  if  you  hadn't." 

Again  the  pastor  hesitated,  but  it  was  only 
for  a  moment. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said  softly.  "We'll  go 
this  way  now.  Come."  He  took  her  arm 
again,  and  after  a  defiant  moment  she  obeyed. 
"Now  tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  soothingly.  "I 
want  to  help  you." 

"You  can't  help  me,"  she  answered  with 
fierceness.  "No  one  can  help  me.  It's  too 
late." 

"No,  no,  no."  He  spoke  with  earnestness. 
"Don't  say  that.  It's  never  too  late,  never. 
Now  just  let  me  help  you — I  am  sure  I  can  help 
you.  Tell  me  why  you  did  it — tell  me  every- 
thing. I  want  to  help  you."  He  spoke  plead- 
ingly, tenderly.  "Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he 
whispered. 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  17 

"Well,  I  just  will,"  she  burst  out  with  harsh 
voice.  "It's  because  I  heard  your  old  sermon 
to-night,  that's  why." 

"Heard  my  sermon?" 

"Yes,  I  went  in  there,  God  knows  why,  and 
you  told  the  truth.  You  said  the  only  thing  for 
folks  like  me  was  just  to  die ;  you  said  a  woman 
never  could  outlive  it ;  you  said  it  was  as  if  she 
had  the  smallpox  or  leprosy.  And  my  God, 
you  told  the  truth." 

"Why! — you  don't  mean  that  you — you're  a 
— a — "  he  stopped,  unable  to  say  another  word. 
It  had  never  entered  his  mind  that  any  of  that 
hopeless  class  which  he  had  described  so  vividly 
in  his  sermon  might  be  in  the  audience.  His 
words  had  been  aimed  at  what  the  world  calls 
decent  people.  And  he  had  all  unwittingly 
added  the  last  drop  of  despair  to  this  weak 
one's  cup.  The  idea  set  his  heart  to  beating 
fast. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am,"  she  blazed,  her  voice  hoarse 
with  passion,  "and  I'll  say  the  word  if  you're 
too  squeamish.  I'll  say  it!  I'm  a — " 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  interrupted  eagerly. 
"Don't ;  please  don't." 

"But  my  God !  I'm  not  to  blame  for  it.  Did 
you  see  him  sitting  there  all  proper  and  pious, 
and  bowing  his  head  during  the  prayer  and 


18  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

singing  the  hymns !  My  God !"  she  faced  him 
hysterically.  "I  could  kill  him ! — I  could  stran- 
gle him  with  my  fingers ; — I  could  scrunch  him 
with  my  foot  as  you  do  nasty  bugs — bedbugs !" 
She  was  thrusting  her  face  close  to  his,  her  eyes 
white  and  glittering,  her  teeth  bare.  It  was 
a  wholly  animal  face,  distorted  and  discolored, 
with  no  trace  of  soul — the  face  of  a  fury.  He 
shrank  back  involuntarily  and  raised  his  hand 
as  if  to  protect  himself. 

"Why!— Why!  You—"  He  stammered 
and  stopped. 

"You  told  God's  truth,"  she  continued 
hoarsely.  "The  man  don't  suffer.  The  world 
laughs  and  calls  him  wild,  but  what  does  it  call 
me?  And  his  father  sitting  there  like  a  saint 
in  heaven  and  I  down  in  the  mud  and  the  filth 
and  the  dirt !  My  God,  if  I  was  only  a  man — 
just  an  hour — just  ten  minutes,  I'd  strangle 
him — I'd  kill  the  whole  of  'em  one  by  one  as  you 
do  nasty  puppies;  I'd  scrunch  'em  with  my 
teeth !  Oh,  my  God ! — "  She  stopped  in  sheer 
exhaustion,  choking  and  breathless.  Her 
hands  were  clenched  hard;  every  fibre  of  her 
supple  body  was  tense  with  animal  wrath. 

"Wait,  sister;  calm  yourself,"  he  faltered, 
himself  strangely  excited.  "You  are  not  well. 
When  you  are  yourself  again  we  can  talk  of 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  19 

it  perhaps  and  form  some  plan.  They  can  be 
punished." 

"Punished  ?  punished  ?"  she  almost  screamed. 
"You  can't  do  it.  You  know  you  can't. 
There  ain't  any  law  for  women  and  you  know 
it,  or  any  justice,  or  any  God — only  for  men. 
You  know  it ;  you  said  it  to-night.  There  ain't 
anything  but  just  to  die,  and  my  God!  I'm 
going  to."  She  pulled  herself  away  from  him 
violently. 

"No,  no,"  he  cried  in  awful  earnestness. 
"Wait!  You  quote  only  part  of  my  sermon. 
I  said  there  was  hope.  I  emphasized  it." 

"Then  you  lied."  She  thrust  her  face  toward 
him,  writhing  and  livid  with  wrath.  "There 
ain't  a  woman  in  your  church  but  would  let 
me  die  like  a  dog  in  a  gutter  before  they  would 
be  seen  helping  me  or  speaking  to  me.  You 
said  that." 

He  started  to  answer  her,  but  a  feeling  of 
helplessness  came  over  him.  This  sudden 
glimpse  of  a  naked  soul  on  the  brink  of  destruc- 
tion almost  unnerved  him.  What  could  he  say 
that  would  move  her?  Heretofore  sin  and  its 
accompaniments  had  been  to  him  abstract 
things,  mere  theological  terms,  easily  labeled 
and  disposed  of,  but  this  was  a  different  mat- 
ter; it  required  not  something  to  be  said,  but 


20  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

something  to  be  done,  and  instantly.  But  what 
was  there  to  do  ?  He  paused  an  awkward  mo- 
ment, then  out  of  sheer  force  of  habit  he  began 
to  preach. 

"It's  precisely  as  I  said,"  he  started  in  in 
sermon  tone.  "There  is  still  hope  for  you,  but 
there's  only  one  hope.  In  Jesus  Christ — " 

"Will  that  make  folks  treat  me  like  they 
did?"  she  broke  in  fiercely,  thrusting  her  chin 
out  at  him  as  if  he  alone  was  responsible  for 
her  wrongs.  "Will  that  stop  'em  from  order- 
ing me  out  of  my  room  and  driving  me  into 
the  streets,  where  I  haven't  a  place  to  lay  my 
head  or  a  cent  of  money  ?  You  know  it  won't. 
Your  old  Jesus  Christ  may  forgive  me  and  all 
that,  but  what  good  does  that  do  me?  I've 
got  to  live  with  folks,  and  they  treat  me  as  if 
I  was  a  snake.  I  haven't  got  a  cent  or  a  friend 
or  a  place  to  go  to.  I  spent  all  last  night  walk- 
ing in  the  park  because  I  hadn't  any  place  to 
lie  down  in.  Everyone  that's  decent  draws  up 
their  dresses  when  I  walk  by  'em.  And  my 
God,  what  have  I  done?  Tell  me  what  have 
I  done !"  She  looked  at  him  a  moment  almost 
with  pleading,  then  burst  into  sobs,  hysterically, 
deliriously. 

It  was  no  time  for  preaching.  Something 
practical  must  be  done  instantly.  He  looked 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  21 

about  him  an  instant  helplessly;  then  an  inspi- 
ration came  as  if  someone  had  whispered  in 
his  ear. 

The  girl  needed  a  mother. 

The  thing  was  clear  in  a  moment.  This  was 
just  where  the  church  could  help.  He  would 
take  her  to  one  of  the  church  mothers,  some 
sweet  Christian  soul  who  would  talk  as  only  a 
mother  could  talk;  who  would  soothe  and 
calm  and  love  her  until  the  storm  subsided 
and  there  was  peace.  That  indeed  was  an 
inspiration. 

"Come,"  he  said  with  sudden  cheeriness. 
"No  use  to  argue.  I  have  got  the  very  plan. 
What  you  want  is  a  supper  and  a  bed  and  a 
mother  to  talk  to  you  and  love  you.  Now  I 
am  going  to  show  you  what  the  church  really 
is.  I'm  going  to  take  you  right  down  to  Mrs. 
Bailey's,  as  sweet  and  motherly  a  soul  as  there 
is  in  the  whole  world.  You'll  feel  as  if  you 
had  got  home  and  mother  was  there.  Come." 

"Indeed  I  won't."  She  poured  out  the  words 
as  if  he  had  struck  her.  "No,  sir,  you  don't 
get  me  into  no  such  place  as  that." 

"Why  certainly  you  will  come.  She  would 
never  forgive  me  if  I  let  you  go  and  did  not 
bring  you." 

"I  won't.     I'll  die  first."     She  spoke  through 


22  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

her  set  teeth.  There  was  the  look  about  her 
of  the  cornered  animal. 

"Come,"  he  said,  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 
A  moment  their  eyes  met,  and  she  yielded. 
Without  a  word  she  suffered  him  to  lead  her 
down  the  walk.  There  was  a  strange  compel- 
ling force  about  the  young  man  that  dominated 
her. 

"It's  just  the  place,"  he  went  on  gaily.  "Mrs. 
Bailey  is  the  leader  of  our  church  women.  She 
gives  half  of  her  time  to  the  organizing  of  mis- 
sions and  rescue  work.  She's  a  real  Christian, 
and  you  will  get  a  new  idea  of  what  the  church 
is  for  after  once  you  have  known  her.  You 
will  stay  with.her  to-night  and  I'll  come  around 
in  the  morning  and  we'll  decide  what  next. 
Now  don't  for  a  moment  forget  this:  you  are 
among  friends;  God  has  led  you  among 
friends." 

She  did  not  speak  but  walked  as  if  uncon- 
scious of  what  she  was  doing.  Their  route  lay 
through  the  worst  part  of  the  city,  and  as  they 
passed  the  groups  of  men  before  pool-rooms 
and  saloons,  involuntarily  she  drew  closer  to 
him  and  clutched  his  arm  more  tightly. 

He  became  silent,  and  at  length  the  silence 
seemed  to  oppress  her.  Once  she  looked  up  at 
him  furtively.  He  was  slender  and  clerical  of 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  23 

figure.  His  face  as  she  glimpsed  it  was  clean- 
shaven— a  long,  scholarly  face  with  thin  lips 
and  sallow  cheeks,  and  eyes  that  seemed  to  look 
quite  through  and  through  her. 

He  guided  her  at  length  into  a  broader  and 
lighter  street  in  the  residence  section. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  announced,  at  length. 
"This  is  Mrs.  Bailey's.  Hear  them?  They 
always  sing  gospel  songs  Sunday  evening." 

"I'm  not  going  in  there,  no,  sir,"  she  burst 
out  again  in  a  kind  of  panic.  "You  are  awfully 
good,  but  I  can't.  I  won't."  She  was  looking 
about  as  if  for  a  chance  to  escape. 

"Come,"  he  said,  firmly.  She  found  herself 
looking  into  his  eyes  again.  A  moment  and  she 
dropped  her  gaze  in  confusion  and  went  with 
him  up  the  steps.  A  lad  of  twelve  answered 
his  ring. 

"Why,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Gait."  There  was  sur- 
prise in  the  boy's  voice.  "Come  right  in." 

"No,  Harry,  we  can't  stop  now.  We  will 
just  step  into  the  hall.  We  want  to  see  your 
mother."  The  lad  bounded  away  and  in  a  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Bailey  appeared,  her  face  full  of 
welcome. 

"Why,  Mr.  Gait,  you  must  come  right  in." 
She  held  out  her  hand  in  hearty  greeting,  then 
turned  an  interrogating  look  at  the  woman. 


24  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"This  is  a  young  woman  in  deep  trouble," 
he  explained,  quickly.  "She  needs  help  at  once, 
and  I  have  brought  her  to  you." 

"Why,  certainly,  that  was  right."  She  went 
over  to  the  girl  and  took  her  hand.  "What  is 
the  matter,  dearie  ?"  she  asked,  sweetly. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"She  has  no  place  for  the  night,"  the  pastor 
explained,  quickly.  "I  want  you  to  take  her 
until  to-morrow  and  then  we'll  make  arrange- 
ments for  her.  To-night  she  needs  mothering 
and  care." 

"WThy,  certainly — "  she  stopped,  with  a  look 
of  perplexity  on  her  face.  She  was  studying 
the  girl  closely. 

"I  will  come  around  in  the  morning  and  we 
will  decide  what  to  do  next,"  the  pastor  an- 
nounced, making  a  move  as  if  about  to  go. 

"Why — yes — "  It  was  not  clear  to  Mrs. 
Bailey  at  all.  Her  scrutiny  of  the  girl  revealed 
much.  She  was  clearly  not  an  outcast.  Her 
clothing  was  tasteful  and  even  expensive;  her 
hands  were  white  and  perfectly  manicured ;  her 
face  had  a  freshness  and  beauty  about  it  that 
was  quite  unusual. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  the  city  and  out  of 
funds?"  she  ventured.  "You  belong  to  our 
church?" 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  25 

"No.     I  live  here." 

"Oh ! — Don't  go,  Mr.  Gait ;  I  want  to  speak 
to  you — .  And  you  have  no  friends  here  ?" 

"No." 

"Why,  what  can  have  happened?"  She  was 
studying  the  girl  closely  without  seeming  to  do 
so. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"May  I  ask  your  name,  please?  Mr.  Gait 
did  not  tell  me  your  name."  The  girl  hesitated 
a  moment  and  then  looked  up  defiantly. 

"Isobel  Carniston,"  she  said,  with  harshness. 

"Ah!" 

The  girl  straightened  up  at  the  word  as  if 
she  had  been  struck.  Then  the  woman  turned 
briskly  to  the  pastor. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  Mr.  Gait," — the 
church  business  tone  was  in  her  voice  now — 
"but  really  I  haven't  any  suitable  place.  I 
haven't  a  single  room  ready." 

"But,  Mrs.  Bailey,  you  surely — " 

"I  have  a  plan, — take  her  down  to  the  Beth- 
any Mission.  That's  the  very  place ;  it's  ideal. 
Why  didn't  we  think  of  it  before  ?" 

"But  Mrs.  Bailey,  she's  in  deep  trouble. 
What  she  needs  is  mothering  and  Christian 
sympathy.  And  you  are  just  the  one  to  do  it. 
Surely—" 


26  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"The  Mission's  the  very  place.  They  have  a 
matron  there,  you  know,  a  sweet,  motherly  old 
soul  who  knows  just  what  to  do.  It's  the  one 
place  in  the  world  for  her.  You  know  our 
church  contributes  regularly  to  support  it;  I'm 
on  the  board  of  visitors  and  I  know  about  it. 
We  went  over  it  only  last  month.  It's  just 
ideal ;  they  know  precisely  what  to  do.  That's 
what  they're  for,  to  look  after  such  crea —  such 
people." 

"But  Mrs.  Bailey,  she  needs  the  home  atmos- 
phere, the — " 

"Oh,  she'll  get  it  there;  it's  wonderful.  You 
don't  know  what  that  Mission  is ;  you  must  go 
down  with  us  some  time  when  we  inspect  it. 
It'll  open  your  eyes.  I'd  take  her  right  down 
as  soon  as  I  could.  It's  getting  late  and  I'm 
not  sure  whether  they  keep  open  all  night  or 
not.  Ah,  I  have  a  plan.  I  will  telephone  right 
down  there  and  they  will  send  someone  here 
for  her  in  a  very  few  moments.  They  will 
come  at  once  when  they  know  who  it  is  at  the 
telephone.  Wait  just  a  moment  now." 

"No,  Mrs.  Bailey,  if  she  goes  down  there  I 
shall  take  her  myself."  She  looked  at  him 
quickly.  A  strange,  new  tone  was  in  the  pas- 
tor's voice. 

"Why,   I   wouldn't  do  it;   it's  needless;  it 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  27 

isn't — it  doesn't  look — "  she  stopped  in  con- 
fusion. 

"I  shall  go  with  her."  He  spoke  with  preci- 
sion. "What  is  the  street,  please  ?" 

"Allen  Street.  Here,  let  me  give  you  a  word. 
I'll  write  to  the  matron  on  my  visiting  card. 
There.  If  there's  anything  else  I  can  do,  you 
must  let  me  know.  Good  night,  Mr.  Gait." 

The  pastor  and  the  woman  were  again  on  the 
sidewalk,  and  for  a  time  they  walked  in  silence. 

"And  she  is  your  leader?"  There  was  no 
anger  in  the  voice  now. 

"Yes." 

"She  knew  me;  everybody  knows  me.  She 
wouldn't  have  taken  me  into  her  house  if  it 
would  have  saved  me  from  dying."  There  was 
despair  in  the  tone.  The  last  word  was  a  sob. 
The  tempest  of  anger  and  rebellion  was  gone, 
and  she  was  the  woman  again,  befouled  and 
cast  out  and  alone, — the  leper  who  must  cry  her 
whole  life  long  "unclean,  unclean,"  with  no 
human  soul  to  sympathize  or  to  help.  The 
hand  of  every  pure  man  and  woman  must  be 
against  her;  forever  she  must  be  alone.  A 
lump  came  into  the  pastor's  throat. 

"Nevertheless,  my  sister,  you  have  fallen 
among  friends,"  he  cried.  There  was  a  tremor 
and  an  earnestness  in  his  voice  that  thrilled  the 


28  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

girl.  "If  I  had  a  home  of  my  own  you  should 
come  and  stay  as  long  as  you  needed  to ;  I  would 
treat  you  precisely  as  if  you  were  my  sister. 
I  have  no  home,  but  you  are  going  to  be  pro- 
tected and  saved.  You  have  fallen  among 
friends,  my  sister."  He  turned  impulsively 
and  found  himself  looking  into  her  eyes.  His 
heart  was  very  full.  "For  you,"  he  said,  feel- 
ingly, "I  stand  to-night  in  the  place  of  Christ. 
He  is  helping  you  and  lifting  you  up  by  means 
of  me.  For  you  to-night  I  am  indeed  the 
Christ." 

They  said  no  more  until  they  turned  into 
Allen  Street  and  stood  outside  the  Mission. 
Then  he  stopped  and  looked  again  at  her 
earnestly.  She  glanced  up  at  him  with  a 
startled  expression. 

"I  want  you  to  promise  me  one  thing,"  he 
said  impressively.  "Will  you  ?" 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  in  low  tone. 

"I  want  you  to  promise  to  do  yourself  no 
harm  this  night.  Will  you?" 

She  dropped  her  head  and  did  not  answer. 

"Will  you?"  he  repeated,  intensely. 

"Yes." 

"And  I  want  you  to  take  this  Testament  and 
read  before  you  go  to  sleep  the  passages  I  shall 
mark  for  you.  I  shall  have  it  sent  up  to  your 


A  WOMAN  SINNER  29 

room.  I  want  you  to  believe  that  there  are 
still  in  this  world  those  who  pity  you  and  will 
help  you  and  stand  up  for  you  and  make  your 
life  still  what  it  might  have  been.  I  want  you 
to  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  has  come  to  you 
this  night  and  that  He  is  going  to  save  you  and 
make  you  clean  and  happy  again.  Will  you?" 

Again  she  made  no  answer. 

"Will  you  promise  to  read  the  passages?"  he 
pleaded. 

No  answer. 

"Won't  you,  sister?"  he  whispered,  passion- 
ately. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  broke  out,  in  sudden  vehe- 
mence. "You  don't  know  the  worst.  I  can't 
tell  it.  You  wouldn't  be  kind  to  me  if  you 
knew — everything." 

"I  don't  care  what  you've  done  or  what  the 
worst  may  be,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "There 
are  no  degrees  of  sin  with  God.  The  past  is 
nothing;  it's  the  future.  You  are  simply  my 
sister,  and  I'm  going  to  help  you  up,  and  every 
true  Christian  will  do  the  same  thing.  Won't 
you  promise,  sister  ?" 

"Yes."  There  was  a  flush  in  the  girl's 
cheeks ;  her  eyes  fell  beneath  his  eager  gaze. 

"God  bless  you.  Now  we'll  go  in.  I'll  come 
here  to-morrow  morning  at  ten  o'clock  and 


30  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

we'll  talk  about  what  to  do  next.  I'll  have 
them  show  you  your  room  and  I'll  have  the 
Testament  sent  up  later."  He  took  her  hand 
and  grasped  it  warmly,  and  they  went  together 
into  the  Mission. 

Half  an  hour  later  John  Gait  went  slowly 
home,  his  chin  on  his  breast,  like  Dante  after 
his  look  into  hell. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   GOD   OF   THINGS   AS   THEY   LOOK 

HOME  in  his  room,  Gait  turned  on  his  light 
and  dropped  into  his  study  chair.  There 
was  no  one  to  disturb  him.  When  he  had  en- 
tered upon  his  pastorate  a  year  before,  he  had 
taken  quarters  in  a  hotel  near  the  church  and 
in  the  business  section.  It  gave  him  freedom : 
he  could  come  and  go  as  he  pleased.  More- 
over, it  plunged  him  into  the  currents  of  city 
life  as  no  suburban  residence  could  ever  do. 
He  had  been  called  from  a  country  parish;  he 
was  new  to  the  city,  and  he  longed  to  get  at  its 
heart.  The  quiver  and  roar  of  it  were  all  about 
him  as  he  prepared  his  sermons;  the  constant 
feeling  that  he  was  in  the  teeming  presence  of 
the  multitude  stimulated  him.  He  was  a  part 
of  it, — a  part  of  this  mighty,  throbbing  com- 
posite of  human  life,  and  it  was  to  be  his  work 
to  understand  it,  to  sympathize  with  it,  and  to 
strive  to  lift  it  to  higher  ideals, — a  work  to  in- 
spire any  man.  He  was  tremendously  in  ear- 
nest. He  had  been  called  by  God  to  save  men, 

31 


32  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  he  was  giving  his  whole  body  and  soul  to 
the  work. 

He  picked  up  the  book  that  he  had  been  read- 
ing just  before  the  meeting  and  tried  to  regain 
the  thread,  but  in  vain.  His  mind  was  far 
from  any  book.  His  moment's  contact  with  a 
naked  human  soul  at  the  crisis  of  its  sin,  a  soul 
on  the  brink  of  destruction,  had  shaken  him 
more  than  he  realized.  He  had  read  and  he 
had  talked  much  of  sin ;  the  word  in  a  way  was 
the  key-note  of  his  profession.  He  had  pic- 
tured often  the  agony  and  the  horror  that  came 
to  sinful  lives  when  at  last  they  realize  that  it 
is  too  late,  but  of  sin  in  the  concrete  he  knew 
really  very  little.  Now,  however,  it  had  come 
with  vividness,  and  he  could  think  of  nothing 
but  Isobel  Carniston.  God  to  test  him  had  put 
into  his  keeping  a  perishing  soul,  and  he  must 
save  her  or  her  blood  were  on  his  head.  But 
how  ?  What  must  he  do  next  ?  The  first  step 
was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  second  which 
he  must  take  now. 

He  tried  to  think  it  out  as  one  solves  a  prob- 
lem. She  was  not  a  merely  bad  woman  at  the 
end  of  her  career ;  everything  about  her  seemed 
to  indicate  that.  She  was  not  ignorant;  her 
speech  betrayed  it.  Her  costume  indicated 
prosperity  within  a  recent  period.  Why  then 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  33 

should  she  proclaim  herself  an  abandoned 
woman  without  money  or  home  or  friends? 
Perhaps  she  was  a  country  girl  who  had  come 
to  the  city  and  had  gone  wrong.  How  joyous 
it  would  be  to  lead  her  back  to  her  home  and 
to  complete  forgiveness!  But  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  country  about  the  girl,  and  she  had 
said  emphatically  that  she  was  a  fallen  woman, 
a  mere  creature  of  the  streets.  As  he  thought 
of  what  she  had  said,  it  came  to  him  that  she 
had  shown  no  regret  and  no  horror  of  her  sin. 
Her  passion  had  come  solely  from  self-pity  and 
from  anger.  She  had  thrown  herself  under 
the  car  in  a  sudden  rage  which  had  seemingly 
been  brought  on  by  the  sight  of  a  man  in  the 
audience.  Doubtless  it  had  been  to  watch  this 
man  that  she  had  attended  the  service.  Even 
the  lowest  women  of  the  streets,  it  would  seem, 
had  their  jealousies.  How  was  he  to  touch  and 
influence  such  a  life,  one  that  had  in  it  so  little 
to  which  he  could  appeal?  His  church  mem- 
bers would  not  help,  but  would  rather  hinder 
him  in  his  efforts.  Even  Mrs.  Bailey  had  re- 
fused to  work  with  him. 

A  knock  at  the  door  started  him  nervously 
to  his  feet.  So  rapt  was  he  in  his  problem  of 
Isobel  Carniston  and  her  salvation  that  the 
knock  came  to  him  as  if  connected  with  her. 


34  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

It  flashed  upon  him  that  it  was  a  messenger  to 
tell  him  that  the  girl  had  made  another  attempt 
upon  her  life  and  had  succeeded. 

"Come/'  he  called,  after  a  nervous  moment. 
"Oh,  it's  only  you.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see 
you,  Dick."  He  wrung  the  man's  hand  with 
unusual  fervor. 

"Who  did  you  think  it  was,  Johnny  ?" 

"Oh,  I  was  simply  engrossed  with  something 
and  you  startled  me.  I  might  have  known  who 
it  was." 

It  was  indeed  nothing  unusual  for  Dick 
Paine  to  drop  in  of  a  Sunday  evening.  The 
two  had  been  roommates  during  their  last  year 
at  college, — an  odd  pairing,  but  really  an  ideal 
one.  The  two  understood  each  other.  In  the 
whole  city  Dick  was  perhaps  the  pastor's  only 
really  intimate  friend.  He  could  confide  in 
Dick. 

"Caught  you  grinding  again,  I'll  bet  a  dol- 
lar, grinding  at  your  next  sermon,  and  the  old 
one  not  fairly  cold." 

"Sit  down,  Dick.  I'm  awfully  glad  you've 
come.  I've  wanted  you.  I  want  your  advice." 

"Comes  high  on  points  of  law,  Johnny,  but 
on  theology  it  ain't  worth  a  da —  whistle.  Per- 
haps I  will  drop  down  a  minute.  Your  room 
needs  fumigating."  He  collapsed  into  a  sleepy- 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  35 

hollow,  crossed  his  legs  luxuriously,  drew  out 
a  cigar,  and  began  to  fumble  for  a  match. 

He  was  short  and  broad-shouldered,  "built 
expressly  for  the  line"  the  football  coach  had 
assured  him  in  college.  The  confidence  and 
sang-froid  of  the  early  thirties  stood  out  all 
over  him,  as  did  the  marks  of  perfect  health 
and  successful  business  practice.  There  was 
that  in  his  air  that  stamped  him  as  a  man  of 
the  world, — one  who  looked  on  life  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  young  criminal  lawyer  of 
wide  experience  and  perfect  digestion.  He 
was  pessimistic  without  being  cynical.  His 
manner  was  quick  and  decided;  he  saw  the 
point  instantly  and  acted  without  hesitation. 
Life  seemed  to  strike  him  facetiously ;  puns  and 
stories  and  jokes  bubbled  from  him  constantly, 
but  he  seldom  laughed  himself.  Even  in  his 
most  hilarious  moments  his  expression  did  not 
change.  It  made  him  seem  wise  and  blase  be- 
yond his  years.  The  contrast  with  the  sensi- 
tive, spiritual  face  opposite  was  marked. 

"Say,  Johnny,"  he  said,  after  a  moment, 
holding  the  match  to  the  cigar  and  mumbling 
between  the  first  big  puffs.  "I  know  what's  the 
matter.  They  tell  me  you  let  loose  a  bit  down 
to  the  church  to-night.  How  is  it  ?" 

"Why,  nothing  more  than  usual.     I — " 


36  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  it.  Ed  Jones  says  you 
bucked  into  their  centre  like  old  Hefflefinger 
and  made  ten  yards  every  rush.  Good  work, 
Johnny.  Tear  'em  up.  That's  all  they're 
good  for.  But — "  throwing  the  match  end 
away  and  looking  across  the  table  with  uplifted 
brows — "what  do  you  know  about  women, 
Johnny?" 

"What  I  learned  from  my  mother  and  my 
Bible,"  Gait  answered  solemnly,  his  eyes  absent 
and  dreamy. 

"Just  what  I  thought.  Johnny,  you  ain't 
any  more  fit  to  argue  a  woman  case  than  a 
horse,  and  I  mean  by  that  a  clothes-horse.  A 
parson  ought  not  to  be  licensed  nowadays  to 
preach  in  any  city  till  he  has  sat  three  terms  in 
a  police  court,  six  months  in  a  jail,  and  three 
weeks  in  a  morgue.  Then  he  can  talk  about 
women." 

The  pastor  did  not  answer;  he  was  dreamy 
and  preoccupied. 

"Say,  Dick,  I  had  a  queer  experience  to- 
night," he  began  at  length,  arising  and  pacing 
the  floor  slowly,  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
"I  don't  know  just  what  to  do.  I  want  to 
know  what  you  think  about  it."  Something  in 
the  tone  made  the  man  in  the  sleepy-hollow  take 
out  his  cigar  and  rise  to  his  elbow. 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  37 

"Hello!  What's  this?"  he  cried,  looking 
straight  at  Gait.  "Love  scrape?  One  of  those 
cussed  old  maids  down  there  has  hooked  ye, 
I'll  bet  my  hat." 

"Don't  joke,  Dick.  It's  a  serious  matter; 
awfully  serious." 

"Oh.     So  it's  not  an  affaire  du  coeur?" 

"I  preached  to-night  on  the  erring  woman, — 
on  the  duty  of  the  church,  you  know,  toward 
the  woman  who  has  sinned." 

"So  I  heard."  He  sank  back  and  puffed  at 
his  cigar  with  the  dreamy,  blinking  expression 
peculiar  to  smokers. 

"My  point  was  that  society  and  even  the 
church  crucifies  her  without  pity,  and  that 
among  all  sinners  she  is  the  only  one  who  is 
absolutely  deprived  of  hope." 

"Bull's-eye,  Johnny." 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  I  said,  but  after  the 
service,  when  I  was  standing  on  the  sidewalk 
in  front  of  the  church,  a  woman  rushed  out 
and  tried  to  throw  herself  under  a  street  car. 
I  pulled  her  out  by  the  narrowest  chance,  and 
then  she  told  me  she  had  done  it  on  account  of 
my  sermon." 

"Good!  I  congratulate  you;  I  didn't  know 
you  were  preaching  so  effectively.  Think  I 
shall  have  to  go  down  some  night  and  hear 


38  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

you.  But  what  did  you  pull  her  out  for, 
Johnny?" 

"Why,  Dick—" 

"What  did  you  do  with  her  after  you  had  got 
her  out?  Preached  her  a  nice  little  sermon 
I'll  bet  a  dollar  and  sent  her  away  with  your 
benediction." 

"No.  She  began  to  cry.  I  never  saw  a 
woman  cry  so — " 

"Mere  lack  of  training.  If  you  had  only 
taken  my  course  now.  But  what  did  you  do 
with  her?  By  George,  you  begin  to  interest 


me." 


"I  took  her  down  to  the  Bethany  Mission  and 
got  her  a  supper  and  a  bed.  I  made  her  prom- 
ise not  to  harm  herself,  and  told  her  I  would 
go  down  and  see  her  in  the  morning.  They 
had  turned  her  out  of  her  boarding-house  and 
she  hadn't  a  cent." 

The  pastor  did  not  mention  the  episode  at 
Mrs.  Bailey's. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Johnny?  Why 
was  it  up  to  you  any  longer  ?" 

"She  said  my  sermon  had  driven  her  to  it," 
the  pastor  explained,  weakly.  "It  was  my 
duty." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow 
morning  when  you  get  down  there  ?"  He  held 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  39 

his  cigar  poised  before  his  face  and  looked  at 
Gait  sharply. 

"I  don't  know.  That's  what  I  want  your 
advice  for,  Dick." 

"Humph !  Now  look  here,  Johnny,  that's  all 
tommy-rot.  Your  sermon  wasn't  in  it.  There 
never  was  a  sermon  preached  in  this  country 
that  would  drive  anyone  to  suicide  unless  it 
was  on  account  of  its  length  or  dryness. 
Chuck  it.  It's  up  to  the  Mission  now.  That's 
my  advice." 

"You  are  wrong,  Dick.  Indeed  you  are 
wrong.  God  threw  her  in  my  way  for  a  pur- 
pose. The  responsibility  is  upon  me.  A  girl 
like  that  young  and  beautiful  and  perhaps — " 

"By  Jove !"  Dick  straightened  up  instantly. 
"Look  here,  Johnny,  what  kind  of  a  looking 
woman  was  she  ?" 

"I  couldn't  tell  very  accurately;  it  was  dark, 
you  know.  She  was  about  twenty,  I  should 
judge,  tall,  well-dressed,  yellowish  hair — " 

"Mighty  good  looking?" 

"I  should  judge  she  was." 

"She  didn't  tell  you  her  name?" 

"She  said  her  name  was  Isobel  Carniston." 

"Well  I'll  be  da —  excuse  me,  Johnny,  but 
you  got  the  jump  on  me." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Dick  ?" 


40  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Nothing."  He  sank  back  again  into  the 
chair  and  puffed  for  a  time  meditatively. 
"Say,  Johnny,"  he  said  at  length,  "this  is  a 
queer  world,  isn't  it, — demnition  queer  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  know  this  woman?" 
Gait  paused  in  his  tread  about  the  room. 

"I  have  seen  her." 

"Who  is  she,  Dick?" 

"No  great  to  tell.  First  thing  I  ever  heard 
of  her  she  was  in  the  ribbon  department  of 
Brown  and  Wasson.  Nice  little  girl  she  was 
then,  smart  and  capable  and  tending  to  busi- 
ness. Then  I  believe  she  got  ambitious  and 
went  upon  the  stage  as  a  chorus  girl  and  trav- 
elled about  some.  No  great  of  a  singer,  but 
she  could  dance  to  beat  the  angels.  Then  the 
vampires  caught  sight  of  her,  and — well,  that's 
the  whole  story." 

"The  vampires?" 

"Look  here,  Johnny,  I  say  it's  criminal  for  a 
man  to  hang  out  his  sign  as  a  professional 
doctor  of  morals  and  not  know  anything  about 
life.  They  call  M.D.'s  who  don't  know  their 
trade  quacks.  For  God's  sake  read  the  Police 
News,  Johnny,  and  get  into  the  saloons  and  the 
police  court  and  learn  the  A  B  C's  about  life  as 
it  is  lived  on  this  planet." 

"But  the  vampires,  Dick?" 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  41 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  a  few  points  just  out  of 
pity,  Johnny.  Firstly,  the  real  vampires  of  this 
town  don't  belong  to  your  submerged  tenth 
class,  nor  your  submerged  nine-tenths  either. 
Make  a  note  of  that.  What  you  call  some  of 
the  first  families  up  on  the  hill  are  in  it, — pillars 
of  the  church  and  your  church  among  them. 
Note  that  down." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dick  ?" 

"And  my  second  point  is  this:  it's  quite  a 
thing  for  a  little  girl  who  belongs  to  the  ten- 
dollar-a-week  crowd  to  be  taken  up  by  the 
swellest  young  fellows  in  town  and  toted 
around  as  if  she  were  the  whole  show.  You'll 
admit  that.  You  can't  blame  the  girls,  Johnny. 
Rich  young  bloods  from  the  loudest  families 
up  town,  swell  dressed,  money  no  object,  treat- 
ing her  like  a  chum, — you  really  can't  blame 
her,  Johnny.  Women  on  the  average  are  about 
as  human  as  men." 

"They  ought  to  be  informed  on,  and  put 
where  they  belong,"  the  pastor  burst  out,  ex- 
citedly. "It's  damnable." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,  Johnny.  You 
really  can't  blame  the  boys.  A  young  fellow's 
got  to  have  his  fling;  you  ain't  young  only  a 
mighty  little  while,  Johnny.  And  about  this 
Queen  Isobella;  you  saw  her.  Probably  you 


42  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

didn't  notice  it,  but  she's  a  girl  you  don't  see 
on  every  street  car.  That's  straight.  I  saw 
her  myself  once  down  to  Larry's  here:  private 
dining-room,  you  understand,  and  about  six  or 
eight  in  a  party  after  the  show.  She  was  a 
dazzler,  Johnny.  There  aren't  a  dozen  com- 
plexions and  heads  of  hair  like  that  on  this  side 
of  the  water;  that's  the  gospel  truth,  Johnny. 
And  her  eyes  and  figure  and  hands! — well, 
nothing  was  too  good  for  her,  and  she  took  it 
all  as  if  she  owned  the  Standard  Oil.  There 
were  other  girls  there,  girls  in  this  town  that 
would  make  your  eyes  bulge  like  lemons  if  I 
told  you  their  names,  but  she, — say,  Johnny, 
I  ain't  any  gusher  over  girls;  you  know  that, 
but  I  couldn't  help  looking  at  her,  and  she 
laughed  and  waved  her  cigarette  in  that  little 
hand  of  hers,  and  tipped  her  champagne  glass 
till  she  could  have  asked  'em  to  go  out  and  get 
her  a  slice  of  the  new  moon  in  a  thin  sandwich 
and  they  would  have  done  it.  And  you  can't 
blame  'em,  Johnny.  Life's  a  pretty  joyous 
thing  when  you  are  twenty-one.  A  boy  can't 
be  an  old  man  if  he  tries;  he'll  be  old  quick 
enough,  God  knows  that.  Go  it  while  you  are 
young;  it's  a  mighty  short  time.  The  boy 
comes  out  all  right  in  the  end,  Johnny,  as  a 
general  thing." 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  43 

"But  the  girls,  Dick!"  He  leaned  over  the 
table  in  awful  earnestness.  "A  girl  simply 
can't  sow  wild  oats.  One  breath  of  scandal — " 

"Oh,  sure!  Nice  little  sermon,  Johnny.  It 
was  rather  too  bad,  a  girl  like  that,  I'll  admit, 
but  she  knew  what  she  was  doing.  She  had 
her  day,  and  it  was  worth  all  that  she  paid. 
And  after  all  what  difference  does  it  make?" 

"Difference  ?  It  means  the  simple  difference 
between  a  soul  saved  and  a  soul  everlastingly 
damned." 

"Oh,  chuck  it!  For  God's  sake,  don't  talk 
shop.  But  speaking  of  souls,  let  me  tell  you 
something,  Johnny.  Our  little  Queen  Isobella 
down  there  has  just  about  as  much  soul  to  her 
as  a  bird  of  paradise  has,  perhaps  not  quite  so 
much." 

"Why  did  she  come  to  hear  me  to-night, 
then?" 

"Oh,  there's  a  reason  all  right,  don't  you 
forget  that.  She  was  watching  some  man,  or 
perhaps  she  blundered  in,  but  one  thing  is  sure, 
she  didn't  know  what  you  were  driving  at  and 
she  don't  know  now.  She  couldn't  if  she  tried. 
All  that  she  knows  is  that  she  is  down  and  out, 
and  that  you  rubbed  the  idea  in.  See  ?  Wait 
till  you  know  her.  She's  a  butterfly,  that's 
what  she  is,  beautiful  as  the  devil  and  just  as 


44  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

incapable  of  any  of  your  soul  business.  She's 
the  most  stunning  woman  physically  that  I  ever 
saw  or  ever  expect  to  see,  but  there's  nothing 
else.  Talk  about  soul !  Pshaw,  Johnny !" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Dick?  Every- 
body's got  a  soul — " 

"All  right,  Johnny,  have  it  your  own  way. 
I  can't  argue  theology.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  she  went  into  this  thing  deliberately.  You 
see  she  was  poor  and  had  expensive  instincts. 
She  wanted  life  and  excitement  and  flattery 
where  it  was  worth  while.  To  her  life  meant 
swell  dances,  and  theatre  boxes,  and  dinners: 
full  dress,  champagne,  ten  dollars  per,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  She  was  willing  to  pay  the 
price,  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Oh,  there  are 
dozens  of  nice  girls  in  this  town  on  the  same 
road.  I  don't  blame  'em.  The  salary  a  decent 
girl  can  make  in  this  town  is  only  one  remove 
from  starvation." 

"But  Dick,  how  does  it  end?" 

"Oh,  simple  little  tragedy,  neat  and  effective 
when  it  is  well  done.  The  street-car  method  is 
a  bit  mussy,  and  it  lacks  imagination,  but  it  will 
do.  There's  no  use  arguing  when  you  are 
down  and  out,  and  the  girl  is  out  of  it  you 
understand  the  minute  the  fellows  say  the  word. 
When  her  rdyal  highness  is  coy  and  impossible, 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  45 

she  is  worth  while,  but  by  and  by, — well,  there's 
a  chapter  that  real  nice  folks  don't  talk  about, 
and  then — pretty  tough  on  the  girl  when  she 
wakes  up,  but  it's  quick  over  with.  Life  is 
short  anyway  if  we  live  to  be  a  hundred." 

"You  don't  mean  that  these  men  have  actu- 
ally driven  any  young  girl  to  destruction? 
You  don't  mean  that,  Dick?"  There  was  hor- 
ror in  the  man's  eyes. 

"Take  your  own  inference,  Johnny.  There 
was  Ida  Morris  fished  out  of  the  canal  in 
March.  Remember  it  ?  Ever  been  cleared  up 
why  she  did  it  ?  And  there  was  Josie  Hurlbut 
who  hasn't  been  heard  from  since  May.  Then 
what  about  little  May  Andrew?  No  use  dis- 
cussing these  things.  The  quicker  they  are 
forgotten  the  better.  Just  clean  up  the  mess  as 
quick  as  you  can  and  forget  it.  The  best 
motto  to  hang  over  your  desk  nowadays, 
Johnny,  is,  Don't  know  too  much.  We  lawyers 
and  doctors  and  coroners  have  got  to  live." 

"But  something  must  be  done  about  it!" 
The  pastor  was  on  his  feet  again  excitedly. 
"Aren't  there  laws  covering  this  thing?  Can't 
these  criminals  be  brought  to  justice?" 

"Oh,  there  are  laws  enough.  We've  got 
laws  to  burn,  Johnny.  But  the  law's  one  of 
the  luxuries  of  the  rich  these  days.  Got  to 


46  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

have  money  in  tubs  if  you  expect  justice  by  way 
of  the  law." 

"But,  in  a  criminal  case,  the  State  prose- 
cutes." 

"What  of  that?  Take  our  little  Queen  of 
Castile  now.  She's  got  a  gilt-edged  case  so 
far  as  justice  goes.  It's  eighteen  carats  fine; 
but  the  pinch  is  that  she  hasn't  got  anything 
but  justice.  See  ?  Certain  families  up  on  the 
hill  are  in  this,  and  they'll  pour  their  money 
out  like  pea  soup.  Suppose  she  should  prose- 
cute, what  would  these  youngsters  swear  she 
was?  Plain,  isn't  it?  She  has  got  about  as 
much  redress  as  a  rabbit  has  in  the  hunting 
season.  She  can  tear  around  and  make  a  show, 
or  she  can  sit  still  and  cry,  or  she  can  jump 
under  the  fender,  it's  all  the  same.  The  canal 
is  the  best  solution." 

"Don't,  Dick,  please  don't." 

"Why,  I  mean  it,  Johnny.  What  else  is 
there  to  do?  Your  interfering  only  prolongs 
the  agony.  The  cold  fact  is  that  you  have  got 
to  live  in  the  world  just  as  it  is,  and  the  world 
just  as  it  is  doesn't  have  much  use  for  little 
Isobellas  when  they  have  reached  the  point  she 
has.  That's  clear,  isn't  it?" 

"But  Dick,  consider.  The  girl  is  penitent; 
she  is  really  penitent." 


THE  GOD  OF  THINGS  47 

"Oh,  sure.  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  Repentance 
according  to  my  dictionary  is  the  state  of  mind 
a  person  finds  himself  in  after  he  has  been 
found  out  and  caught.  A  penitentiary  is  a 
place  where  folks  are  penitent." 

"But,  Dick."  There  was  a  pleading,  almost 
helpless  note  in  the  man's  voice.  "Be  honest, 
now.  This  is  serious,  fearfully  serious.  The 
girl's  life  and  destiny  are  in  our  hands,  perhaps. 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"Our  hands, — not  by  a  long  shot.  I'm  not 
in  this  play ;  I'm  on  the  bleachers.  I'm  watch- 
ing you." 

Gait  was  silent.  He  was  at  his  desk  again, 
absently  folding  and  unfolding  a  strip  of  paper 
in  his  thin  fingers.  There  was  in  his  eyes  what 
Dick  had  once  called  the  "Savonarola  look." 
He  was  struggling  with  the  insoluble  problem 
of  the  ages. 

"Now  look  here,  Johnny."  Dick  tossed  his 
cigar  end  into  the  fireplace  and  pulled  himself 
erect.  "This  is  the  place  wrhere  your  church 
comes  in.  If  they  are  honest  and  mean  what 
they  say  they  do,  they  will  make  it  all  right  with 
the  girl.  That's  my  solution." 

"You  are  right,  Dick."  The  pastor's  tone 
was  far  away  and  dreamy.  "But  I'm  afraid — " 

"Afraid,    are    you?     Oh,    yes.     Well,    I'm 


48  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

going  to  keep  my  eye  on  what  they  do.  I'm 
mildly  interested." 

"Oh,  don't  go  yet,  Dick."  The  tone  was  that 
of  one  who  is  about  to  lose  his  last  support  and 
swim  alone. 

"Yes,  I  must.  Now  remember,  I'm  watch- 
ing this  play.  But  I  know  how  it's  going ;  I'm 
on  to  the  signal.  The  doctor  and  the  under- 
taker and  I'll  get  the  job  in  the  end.  So  long, 
Johnny." 

"Good  night,  Dick." 

The  pastor  turned  again  to  his  study  chair 
and  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  absently  out 
through  the  dim  atmosphere  of  the  room. 
Then  he  groped  for  his  Bible  and  turned  to  the 
eighth  chapter  of  John. 


CHAPTER  III 

AND   ALL   EYES   BLIND 

THE  east  had  begun  to  redden  before  Gait 
fell  asleep.  The  experience  of  the  even- 
ing had  weighed  heavily  upon  him.  He  had  so 
long  brooded  on  the  problems  of  sin  and  salva- 
tion, and  had  so  constantly  given  himself  to 
self-examination  that  the  sense  of  his  responsi- 
bility for  others  at  times  almost  overwhelmed 
him.  The  Savonarola  type  of  man,  tremen- 
dously in  earnest,  all  conviction  and  conscience, 
with  soul  on  fire  with  the  thought  that  man  is 
his  brother's  keeper,  is  still  to  be  found  even 
now.  The  Christianity  that  Moody  preached 
to  young  men  has  multiplied  the  type  and 
made  it  common.  It  is  easy  for  a  man  to 
dwell  on  the  one  thought  of  his  responsibility 
for  others  with  monk-like  singleness  of  heart 
until  it  dominates  him.  It  had  become  Gait's 
whole  life. 

He  judged  others  by  himself.  He  pic- 
tured Isobel  Carniston  as  tossing  as  he  might 
have  done  in  her  place  in  sleepless  torment 

49 


50  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

hour  after  hour,  moaning  in  regret,  as  storm- 
ing in  half  delirium  at  those  who  had  done  her 
wrong,  as  shuddering  in  horror  at  the  death 
that  a  mere  chance  had  rescued  her  from,  or 
as  struggling  again  perhaps  with  the  mania  of 
self-destruction.  It  might  be  that  even  now, 
in  spite  of  her  promise  to  him,  she  was  gasping 
out  her  life  somewhere  in  the  black  waters. 
The  thought  started  the  perspiration  on  his 
forehead. 

But  Isobel  Carniston  was  doing  nothing  of 
the  kind.  She  was  losing  no  sleep.  She  had 
entered  the  little  room  at  the  Mission  in  a  kind 
of  daze.  Everything  had  seemed  unreal, — the 
narrow  little  bed  with  the  white  iron  frame, 
the  prim  washstand,  the  rocker,  the  shaded 
electric  light,  the  little  bureau  with  its  mirror. 
Automatically  she  had  gone  over  and  looked 
into  the  clear  glass.  The  image  she  saw 
frightened  her.  Her  hat  was  awry ;  she  began 
to  arrange  it  with  nervous  haste,  but,  recalling 
herself  after  an  instant,  she  took  it  off  and 
threw  it  upon  the  bed. 

What  was  the  matter  with  her  eyes  ?  They 
were  almost  yellow  and  the  lids  were  gorged 
and  red.  Her  hair  was  in  wisps,  her  cheeks 
were  strangely  mottled, — the  effect  of  it  all 
was  sinister  and  repulsive.  It  brought  her  to 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  51 

herself  with  a  bound  of  the  heart.  It  was  an 
animal  that  she  saw,  a  snarling  thing  that 
scared  her.  For  a  single  instant  she  saw  it, 
then  by  a  swift  impulse  she  was  at  the  wash- 
stand  sopping  her  face  eagerly.  For  a  long 
time  she  bathed  her  eyes  and  neck  and  cheeks 
in  the  icy  coolness,  stepping  now  and  then  to 
the  glass  to  note  the  effect. 

The  transformation  was  swift  and  it  was 
marvellous.  As  she  gazed  at  herself  in  the 
long  mirror,  the  madness  of  her  day  seemed 
to  fall  from  her  like  a  garment.  With  a  swift 
movement  she  unbound  her  hair  and  let  it  fall 
in  a  cloud  about  her  bare  shoulders.  She  was 
herself  again.  The  day's  madness  had  gone 
with  the  long-faced  young  preacher.  Again 
the  fullness  of  life  sang  through  her  veins. 
Again  she  was  Isobel  Carniston,  radiant  in  her 
beauty,  perfect,  irresistible. 

She  ran  her  fingers,  through  the  great  masses 
of  her  hair  and  shook  it  about  her  shoulders 
till  she  stood  as  in  a  great  burst  of  sunshine. 
She  cocked  her  head  coquettishly  at  the  glass 
and  laughed  aloud.  Again  was  she  Isobel 
Carniston.  Her  day  was  as  if  it  had  not  been. 

And  well  might  she  stand  there  and  laugh 
aloud.  It  was  a  vision  of  the  perfect  that  she 
saw,  one  of  those  primal  women,  full  sexed, 


52  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

glorious,  at  the  dawn  of  the  world;  a  woman 
barbarous  in  her  love  and  her  hate,  glorying 
in  the  merely  physical  and  the  fleshly,  satisfied, 
and  unashamed.  Life  rioted  within  her,  sheer 
animal  life,  wild  and  unchecked,  life  that  drove 
from  her  every  thought  of  yesterday  or  to- 
morrow and  cried  out  with  eagerness  only  for 
to-day  and  now. 

And  she  stood  at  the  glass  toying  with  her 
hair  and  forgot  everything:  the  indignant 
words  of  the  honest  Irishwoman  who  had 
driven  her  the  morning  before  into  the  streets ; 
the  scene  in  the  clubroom  that  she  had  entered 
in  a  rage;  the  refusal  of  young  Bradley  to  see 
her,  and  his  jeering  laugh  as  it  came  to  her 
from  another  room;  the  madness  in  her  heart 
as  she  found  herself  conducted  to  the  street  by 
the  janitor.  She  forgot  her  drifting  all  day 
with  the  crowd  hither  and  thither  in  a  delirium 
of  anger,  her  sight  again  of  young  Bradley,  and 
her  following  of  him  into  the  church  with  mur- 
der in  her  soul.  She  forgot  everything.  Again 
she  was  Isobel  Carniston,  and  the  past  and  the 
future  concerned  her  not  at  all. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  the  maid 
brought  in  Gait's  little  Testament,  with  the 
passages  plainly  marked  that  he  wished  her  to 
read.  She  glanced  at  it  curiously  and  tossed 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  53 

it  upon  the  bed  with  a  laugh.  What  was  the 
doleful  little  book  to  Isobel  Carniston  with  the 
hair  of  fine  gold,  and  the  glorious  neck  and 
bosom,  Isobel  Carniston  lithe  and  beautiful  as 
a  leopard  and  as  full  of  eager  life  ?  In  her  bed 
she  was  asleep  in  a  moment,  asleep  without  a 
dream. 

It  was  scarcely  nine  when  Gait  started  for 
the  Mission  to  make  his  promised  call.  He 
was  worried  and  anxious.  What  if  the  girl 
were  not  there?  She  had  gone  under  protest. 
She  could  easily  escape.  Even  as  he  hastened 
along  the  street  there  came  the  vision  of  her 
face  as  it  had  looked  distorted  with  hate  and 
madness.  She  was  not  responsible.  She  was 
mad, — all  men  who  attempt  to  take  their  own 
lives  are  mad,  and  are  not  to  be  trusted  a  mo- 
ment. He  had  done  wrong  to  leave  her  with- 
out a  guard.  The  thought  had  haunted  his 
night,  and  had  driven  him  out  into  the  early 
morning. 

It  was  still  and  crystal  clear.  There  was  a 
tingle  in  the  air,  enough  to  stir  the  blood  and 
quicken  the  step,  but  not  enough  for  discom- 
fort. Things  were  moving  briskly.  Drivers 
shouted  at  each  other,  wheels  creaked  on  the 
frost-bound  pavements,  whips  snapped  with 
steel  reports,  and  men  and  boys  rushed  along 


54  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

pounding  their  hands  and  blowing  clouds  of 
vapor  as  if  they  were  on  fire  inside.  All  the 
world  was  joyous  and  light-hearted,  and 
alive. 

And  soon  the  thrill  and  the  joy  of  the  new 
morning  began  to  get  into  the  soul  of  John 
Gait.  Before  he  realized  it  the  load  of  the 
night  before  was  rolling  off  like  a  bad  dream. 
His  apprehensions  were  mere  foolishness. 
Things  always  looked  big  in  the  night  time; 
he  had  made  a  mountain  of  the  matter.  He 
was  going  to  her  because  she  needed  him. 
She  was  waiting  for  him  now ;  she  was  depend- 
ing on  him.  He  would  find  her  greatly 
changed  with  the  morning:  she  would  be  ra- 
tional now,  and  deliberative,  and  calm.  De- 
spair and  unreasoning  passion  belong  to  the 
night,  but  joy  comes  with  the  morning,  and  if 
not  joy,  at  least  sane  thinking,  and  true  per- 
spective, and  the  whole  train  of  the  proprieties. 
As  he  strode  along  he  could  almost  picture  her 
as  she  would  stand  before  him, — diffident  and 
ashamed,  yet  pleading  and  pathetic,  shrinking 
from  the  harsh  world  that  was  demanding  the 
utmost  farthing,  yet  ready  to  grasp  at  any 
faintest  gleam  of  hope. 

Somehow  an  image  of  the  Magdalen,  a 
painting  in  the  city  gallery,  came  before  him 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  55 

as  he  thought  of  her.  It  was  a  favorite  of  his ; 
he  always  paused  before  it.  Unutterable  lone- 
liness; penitence  unavailing,  merging  into  de- 
spair ;  eyes  that  appeal  mutely  for  the  help  that 
can  never  come;  a  face  where  the  soul  by  a 
sudden  shock  has  burst  at  last  through  the 
veil  of  mere  fleshly  beauty  only  to  find  it  too 
late,  only  to  transfigure  it  with  the  twilight 
radiance  of  what  might  have  been.  Yes,  she 
would  be  like  that,  and  he  would  give  her  hope 
again,  for  there  was  indeed  hope  still.  He 
would  bring  before  her  sharp  and  vivid  the 
Christ  Man  with  all  His  infinite  pity  and  power 
to  save.  He  would  make  her  realize  that  she 
again  might  stand  clean,  with  life  all  before 
her  and  all  forgiven.  Then  he  would  take  her 
to  a  dear  old  soul  whom  he  knew, — Mother 
Brown  of  the  Rescue  Mission,  who  would  be 
a  mother  indeed  to  her  and  would  take  her  into 
the  Home  until  something  better  might  be 
found.  He  could  hardly  wait,  his  message 
was  so  joyous. 

He  was  not  prepared  for  what  followed.  It 
came  like  a  shock. 

The  matron  ushered  him  into  a  stuffy  little 
parlor  and  asked  for  his  card, — his  card!  it 
changed  the  whole  face  of  the  matter  in  an 
instant.  Then  a  white-capped  maid  appeared 


56  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  announced  that  Miss  Carniston  would  be 
down  presently.  It  was  like  a  formal  morning 
call. 

But  Miss  Carniston  did  not  come.  He  sat 
for  what  seemed  like  half  an  hour  in  tense  ex- 
pectancy, but  there  was  no  sound.  He  began 
to  grow  nervous.  Rescue  work  done  by  send- 
ing up  a  card  and  then  waiting  in  the  parlor 
for  the  candidate  to  be  ushered  down  at  her 
leisure  has  embarrassing  features. 

He  waited  still  longer.  At  length  by  force 
of  habit  he  picked  up  a  book  from  the  centre 
table  and  began  to  turn  the  leaves,  at  first  list- 
lessly, then  with  sudden  attention.  It  was  the 
report  of  the  work  of  the  Mission  during  the 
year,  and  he  had  come  to  Mrs.  Bailey's  part. 
He  began  her  letter  with  real  interest ;  then  he 
closed  the  book  with  a  start. 

There  was  a  voice  in  the  hall,  brisk  and  con- 
fident, dismissing  the  matron. 

"Thank  you  for  showing  me  down,"  it  was 
saying.  "Now  you  may  go ;  I  shan't  need  you." 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  mistress  of  a  house  send- 
ing away  her  servant.  The  matron  seemed  to 
hesitate,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

"Very  well,"  she  said. 

Then  there  was  the  brisk  rustling  of  skirts, 
and  before  the  pastor  could  arise  a  beautiful 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  57 

woman,  tall  and  commanding,  was  in  the  door- 
way. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you,  for  keeping 
you  waiting?"  she  was  saying  impetuously; 
then  with  a  little  rush  across  the  floor  she  was 
right  near  him  and  shaking  his  hand  with 
hearty  grip.  "But  it  is  so  early!"  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  look  of  mock  reproach,  then 
laughed  aloud. 

"It  is  early,"  he  admitted. 

"How  dark  they  have  it  here,  and  close." 
She  was  at  the  window,  and  with  a  flash  of  her 
hand  she  sent  the  roller  curtain  spinning  to 
the  top.  "Now  if  we  could  only  have  some 
air.  Won't  you  please  open  it — wide?"  She 
turned  to  him  with  uplifted  eyebrows  and 
laughed  again. 

"With  pleasure,"  he  said.  But  the  window 
opened  hard.  He  struggled  with  it  before  it 
yielded. 

"I'll  bet  the  old  thing  hasn't  been  up  before 
since  the  house  was  built, — a  hundred  years 
ago."  There  was  something  girlish  about  her 
laugh;  it  was  infectious  and  very  pleasing. 
She  was  at  her  ease,  too,  and  perfectly  mistress 
of  the  situation. 

It  puzzled  Gait.  As  he  turned  from  the  win- 
dow he  looked  at  her  searchingly.  Was  this 


58  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  woman  who  had  robbed  him  of  his  night? 
Was  this  the  Isobel  Carniston  who  had  thrown 
herself  under  the  car  and  had  faced  him  so 
fiercely  when  he  had  chided  her  ?  There  must 
be  some  mistake.  It  was  as  if  he  were  calling 
on  one  of  his  wealthy  parishioners  and  was 
being  received  by  the  charming  daughter  of  the 
house.  He  looked  at  her  again.  She  was  at 
the  open  window  sniffing  at  the  brisk  morning. 
A  ray  of  the  warm  sun  was  in  the  masses  of 
her  hair,  marvellous  hair  of  new  bronze,  fine 
as  spun  gold,  and  changing  its  effect  with  her 
every  movement.  Her  face  and  neck,  framed 
in  their  halo,  were  like  a  miniature,  perfect  in 
their  coloring  and  their  rounded  beauty. 

"Oh,  it  must  be  just  great  out  on  the  back 
roads!"  She  leaned  out  as  if  trying  to  peer 
over  the  housetops  that  hid  the  horizon. 
"There's  snow  out  there  and  sleighing, — 
sleighing!"  She  turned  to  him  with  sudden 
intensity.  "Think  of  a  sleigh  ride  on  a  morn- 
ing like  this !" 

The  pastor  was  embarrassed.  He  had  come 
for  rescue  work  and  he  was  making  a  polite 
call.  He  cleared  his  throat,  and  attempted  to 
change  the  subject. 

"Did  you  sleep  well?"  he  asked,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  some  bewilderment. 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  59 

"Fine!  I  never  even  dreamed;  it  seemed 
like  two  minutes.  But  don't  stand,  please. 
Be  seated,  do/'  She  bowed  at  him  graciously 
and  again  he  was  in  the  Morris-chair.  A 
strange  feeling  of  helplessness  came  over  him. 
How  was  he  to  talk  of  rescue  to  a  woman  like 
that? 

She  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  table  and 
instantly  began  to  rattle  on  about  a  sleigh  ride 
she  had  taken  a  year  ago  "on  just  such  a  morn- 
ing precisely."  He  said  nothing;  he  fell  to 
studying  the  girl. 

Dick  was  right.  "Johnny,"  he  had  said,  "she 
is  the  most  stunning  woman  I  ever  saw,  but  she 
has  got  no  more  soul  than  a  wax  doll." 

Dick  was  right.  What  could  he  appeal  to? 
What  reasoning  could  he  do  with  a  butterfly 
like  this  ?  What  start  could  he  make  ?  He  sat 
embarrassed  and  helpless. 

And  had  he  known  more  of  her,  he  might 
have  been  still  more  perplexed. 

There  was  a  touch  of  the  South  in  the  girl. 
The  eyes,  the  hair,  the  full  bust  were  Saxon, 
but  the  fire  and  the  passion  belonged  with 
the  grandmother  to  the  Mediterranean — with 
the  wanton  dance  girl  who  had  bewitched  the 
grandfather  seventy  years  before.  From  her 
had  come  the  volatile  spirits,  the  impetuous 


60  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

passion,  and  the  fierce  joy  in  movement  and 
in  life. 

That  single  drop  of  the  South  had  dom- 
inated her.  She  loved  costly  stuffs:  soft  silks 
and  cobweb  fabrics  that  cling  and  lure;  opal- 
escent gems  and  sensual  musks  and  the  breath 
of  strong  flowers  that  load  a  room  with  per- 
fume till  they  drug  the  senses  and  arouse  the 
passions.  Her  eyes  looked  straight  into  yours 
like  an  animal's  with  a  subtle  magnetism.  A 
woman  she  was  to  send  a  youth  home  intoxi- 
cated, mad,  vowing  that  life  apart  from  her 
was  inconceivable,  a  woman  the  flash  of  whose 
little  hands,  the  cadence  of  whose  voice,  the 
droop  of  whose  eyes,  the  lure  of  whose  near 
presence  might  shake  a  man  mightily  and 
wrench  him  for  a  time  from  all  his  moorings — 
for  a  time,  not  forever.  One  tired  at  last  of 
Isobel  Carniston,  for  she  was  of  the  flesh  alone, 
and  it  is  only  the  soul  that  may  look  beyond 
the  day  and  the  moment's  joy. 

"Do  you  like  the  Mission?"  The  pastor  sat 
suddenly  erect  and  spoke  in  decisive  tone. 
"Did  you  find  it  comfortable?" 

"Oh,  sure!  it's  comfortable  enough,  but — " 
she  waved  her  hand  and  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders, in  a  droll  little  way.  "Well,  you  wouldn't 
want  to  live  here  all  your  life."  She  looked 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  61 

over  at  him  girlishly  and  laughed.  "Don't 
you  see,  it's  so  terribly  solemn.  The  pudgy 
little  matron  sticks  her  head  in  and  says,  'The 
Rev.  Gait  to  see  you  in  the  parlor,  Ma'am/ ' 
She  imitated  the  fat  little  voice  and  laughed 
again.  "She  was  so  awful  solemn.  Seems  as 
if  everybody  you  meet  is  just  going  to  say,  'Let 
us  pray!'  The  maid  brings  up  hot  water,  her 
face  two  feet  long,  and  she  says,  'You're  born 
in  sin,'  or  that's  the  way  it  sounded.  It's  a 
funeral.  I  keep  looking  for  the  mourners.  I 
expect  the  coffin  in  every  moment."  She  looked 
preternaturally  solemn  for  a  moment,  then 
laughed  aloud. 

He  did  not  speak.  He  sat  as  so  often  he 
was  wont  with  his  head  bowed  looking  through 
his  eyebrows  at  the  distance. 

"Now,  there  you  are,  precisely;  just  look  at 
that."  She  waved  her  hand  toward  the  table 
where  a  symbolical  figure  under  a  glass  bell 
sat  on  the  dingy  marble — a  maiden  half-sub- 
merged, holding  with  both  hands  to  a  cross 
that  showed  a  stubby  length  above  the  wild 
waters.  "That's  what  this  place  is,  a  kind  of 
morgue.  Just  look  at  it.  How  can  anybody 
bear  to  look  at  a  thing  like  that?  It's  like  a 
dried  wreath  from  a  coffin  that's  been  kept  for 
years  under  a  glass.  Ugh!" 


62  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"But  it's  symbolic,"  he  burst  out,  eagerly, 
as  if  at  last  he  had  found  an  opening.  "It 
represents  the  only  refuge  there  is  from  sin. 
The  waters  had  almost  covered  her,  and  but 
for  the  cross — " 

"Oh,  let's  walk  in  the  park.  What's  the  use 
sitting  in  this  stuffy  old  hole?"  She  arose  like 
a  child  who  hears  a  sudden  call  from  without, 
and  faced  him  with  bright  eyes.  "We  can  go, 
can't  we?" 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  slowly.  "If  you  prefer 
it."  It  seemed  impossible  to  make  any  head- 
way at  this  morning  call,  amid  all  the  conven- 
tions of  the  drawing-room.  The  park  was  a 
good  suggestion. 

He  waited  for  her  in  the  hall  while  she 
bounded  up  to  get  her  hat  and  wrap.  Never 
had  he  been  so  perplexed  in  his  whole  pastorate. 
He  could  not  read  the  girl.  She  belonged  to  a 
world  that  was  utterly  foreign  to  him.  It  was 
as  if  they  spoke  different  languages. 

The  brisk  air  seemed  to  exhilarate  her.  She 
began  to  rattle  on  of  this  and  that,  but  he  said 
nothing.  Somehow  within  the  hour  the  morn- 
ing had  lost  its  zest.  The  levity  of  the  woman 
in  view  of  what  he  knew  of  her  was  inconceiv- 
able. It  was  unnatural  and  monstrous.  He 
must  talk  to  her  with  plainness ;  he  must  bring 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  63 

her  to  a  realization  of  her  self  and  her  position; 
but  how  was  he  to  begin?  So  absorbed  was 
he  in  the  problem  that  he  did  not  recognize 
Miss  Barclay  of  his  social  committee,  who 
bowed  sweetly  and,  receiving  no  response, 
turned  to  watch  the  strange  couple  out  of  sight. 

"Did  you  read  the  passages  that  I  marked?" 
he  broke  in  upon  her,  abruptly,  in  a  strained 
voice. 

"No.  I  didn't  have  time.  Here's  your 
book." 

"Why,  I  don't  want  the  book  again.  You 
are  to  keep  it;  I  gave  it  to  you.  I  want  you 
to  read  it — every  day." 

"Oh,  I  never  read.  I  hate  reading.  What's 
the  use  reading  old  books  ?  I  haven't  time." 

"But  you  must  read — this.  You  must  read 
the  passages  I  marked."  There  was  eagerness 
in  his  tone.  "There  is  life  in  them.  I  read 
them  myself  last  night  before  I  went  to  bed,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  even  if  I  were  dead  in  sin 
and  buried  in  despair  there  would  be  hope  left. 
'Neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other.'  There 
is  no  other  hope.  Without  it  it  is  all  blackness 
and  despair  and  death.  You'll  read  it,  won't 
you?" 

She  made  no  answer.  He  glanced  at  her 
furtively  and  found  her  glancing  furtively  at 


64  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

him.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant,  and  she 
broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Say,"  she  said,  turning  with  swiftness  and 
waving  her  muff  at  one  of  the  mansions  above 
the  park.  "Wouldn't  it  be  great  to  live  there  ? 
Isn't  that  swell,  though  ?  Wouldn't  that  be  liv- 
ing some?" 

The  words  following  so  swiftly  his  earnest 
pleading  came  to  him  like  a  blow.  They 
brought  the  blood  to  his  cheeks. 

"Miss  Carniston,"  he  said  harshly;  "I  came 
to  speak  of  what  you  are  to  do.  You  are  in  a 
serious  position.  You — " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right."  There  was  a  trace 
of  haughtiness  in  the  tone.  "Don't  trouble  one 
bit  about  me.  I  can  manage  all  right.  I 
always  have." 

"But  you  don't  realize,  Miss  Carniston." 
There  was  no  way  way  now  but  to  press  the 
matter  with  cruel  directness.  "You  will  par- 
don me,  but  I  must  speak  very  plainly.  From 
what  I  have  been  told  you  will  find  it  impossible 
to  secure  any  reputable  work  or  lodging  in  this 
town.  You  know  this  perfectly.  You  know, 
too,  that  you  are  in  fearful  danger  every  mo- 
ment. There  are  those  who  are  watching  your 
every  movement  to  secure  you  for  a  slavery 
worse  than  death.  You  have  no  friends. 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  65 

Those  you  thought  were  your  friends  have 
poisoned  the  town  against  you." 

"The  cowards !"  she  hissed,  her  face  flushing 
with  swift  wrath. 

"Unless  somebody  helps  you  at  once  you  are 
beyond  hope.  You  know  this.  You  know  the 
element  that  will  stop  at  nothing  to  secure  you, 
and  you  know  what  it  means.  You  know  how 
respectable  people  look  upon  you.  There  is  but 
a  single  way  of  escape,  and  I  come  to  tell  you 
of  it.  Let  us  sit  on  this  bench  and  talk  it  over. 
I  want  to  tell  you  something."  He  led  her  un- 
resisting to  a  little  nook  a  short  distance  from 
the  path.  "With  God's  help,"  he  said,  fer- 
vently, "I  am  going  to  help  you  and  I  am  going 
to  save  you."  The  intense  earnestness  in  his 
voice  seemed  to  thrill  the  girl. 

"You  mean  that  you  will  fight  for  me?"  she 
asked,  eagerly. 

"I  shall  do  for  you  all  that  I  can,"  he  replied. 
"I  shall—" 

"Then  we  can  do  it !"  There  was  fierceness 
in  the  voice  now.  "Folks'll  believe  you.  You 
are  a  man,  and  you  can  do  things.  My  God, 
but  we  can  make  it  hot  for  'em.  We'll  roast 
'em.  I  told  'em  they  hadn't  seen  the  last  of 
me,  and  they  haven't.  No,  sir!"  she  laughed 
in  shrill  excitement. 


66  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"But,  Miss  Carniston,  you  don't  under- 
stand— " 

"Don't  I  understand,  though !  I'm  on  to  this 
job  and  don't  you  think  I  ain't.  I  know  more'n 
you  think.  Just  let  me  tell  you  a  secret."  She 
leaned  over  and  hissed  in  his  ear.  "I've  got 
evidence  on  the  Amy  Fiske  case  that'll  make 
folks  open  their  eyes  a  mile.  We  can  put  the 
whole  bunch  of  'em  behind  bars.  My  God,  but 
I'll  make  'em  sweat.  Jim  Bradley'll  have  to 
crawl  before  me  all  over  the  walk,  I'll  tell  you 
that."  She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  shining 
with  fierce  exultation. 

"Jim  Bradley?"  he  faltered. 

"Yes,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em.  You  let  me 
tell  you  what  I  know :  the  very  night  little  Amy 
jumped  into  the  canal  I — " 

"Wait,  Miss  Carniston,  I  can't  hear  this." 

"Do  you  mean  you  back  out?"  she  hissed. 
"Do  you  mean  you  won't  help  me?"  She  was 
on  her  feet  in  a  blaze  of  passion. 

"Not  in  that  way,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I  can't 
help  you  in  any  such  spirit  as  that.  Revenge 
is  not  what  you  want  now.  You  don't  under- 
stand me  at  all." 

"Then  what's  your  game?"  she  shrilled. 
"You  say  you'll  help  me  and  the  minute  I  tell 
you  how  you  crawl.  You're  afraid.  You're  a 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  67 

coward.  I  tell  you  how  we  could  smash  the 
whole  bunch,  and  you  get  cold  feet  and  leave 
me  in  the  mud,  and  they  laughing,  and  sneer- 
ing, and  winking  at  each  other.  And  that's 
your  old  religion,  is  it  ?  All  rot  and  moonshine. 
I  give  that  for  your  dirty  religion."  She 
snapped  her  fingers  and  turned  away  from  him. 

"Wait!  One  moment!  Be  seated,  Miss 
Carniston."  She  wheeled  upon  him  full  of 
rage,  but  there  was  something  in  his  look  that 
seemed  to  dominate  her  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  wavered  for  a  moment  and  sat  down. 

"Miss  Carniston,  you  need  the  plain  truth." 
He  spoke  as  if  weighing  every  word  with  cold 
precision.  He  had  come  to  the  crisis.  "It  is 
my  duty  to  tell  you  things  just  as  they  are.  It 
is  not  for  you  to  talk  of  revenge ;  what  you  need 
is  to  see  yourself  in  the  true  light  as  I  see  you 
and  as  pure  people  see  you.  You  are  an  un- 
clean woman  and  there  is  absolutely  no  one 
but  yourself  to  blame.  You  are  a  danger  to 
everybody  wherever  you  go.  Good  women 
ought  to  blush  if  they  brushed  against  you,  little 
children  should  be  kept  out  of  your  way,  and 
you  should  be  quarantined  like  smallpox.  You 
have  done  what  a  true  woman  would  rather 
die—" 

"Oh,  don't."     She  raised  her  hand  as  if  to 


68  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

ward  off  a  blpw.  Instead  of  flashing  with 
wrath  at  his  harsh  words,  she  had  collapsed 
into  a  pitiful  heap,  grovelling  and  cowering. 
There  was  that  in  his  eyes  and  his  tone  that 
wrought  in  her  a  feeling  that  was  new  to  her. 
She  covered  her  face  so  he  could  not  see  her, 
but  still  she  felt  his  eyes  burning  through  to 
her  very  heart. 

"It  is  harsh,  but  it  is  the  only  thing  that  can 
open  your  eyes.  Before  there  is  help  for  you, 
you  must  see  yourself  as  God  and  pure  people 
see  you — as  I  see  you." 

"Oh,  don't — please !"  She  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  rigid  face  and  drew  in  her  breath  sharply. 
"I  want  to  go — I  want  to  go  to  the  room,"  she 
gasped. 

"No.  You  must  see  the  awfulness  of  this 
thing.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  revenge;  it  is  a 
matter  of  bowing  yourself  in  the  dust  before 
Almighty  God  whom  you  have  wronged." 

She  said  nothing.  She  was  looking  at  him 
now  as  if  she  were  frightened,  as  if  she  were 
powerless  to  take  her  gaze  from  his  burning 
eyes  that  seemed  to  hold  her  with  almost  hyp- 
notic power. 

"When  you  have  done  this,  I  can  help  you. 
I  can  lift  you  up,  God  helping  me.  For  you 
now  I  am  the  Christ  come  to  give  you  my  hand 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  69 

to  lift  you  from  the  mud  and  dirt.  You  can 
be  pure  again,  if  you  only  will.  Come.  I  reach 
you  my  hand.  Will  you  ?"  He  bent  over  her 
in  the  earnestness  of  his  yearning  to  save  her, 
pouring  out  his  soul  like  a  lover.  She  took  his 
hand  like  one  who  is  drowning,  and  then  at 
the  sight  of  the  great  tenderness  in  his  eyes, 
she  began  to  cry. 

"Let  me — go  back,"  she  sobbed. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  said,  awkwardly.  "There — 
it's  all  right — if  you  only  realize — if  you  are 
only  truly  sorry.  It's  easy  then." 

His  back  was  to  the  walk.  He  did  not  see 
Miss  Cooley  and  Mrs.  Bishop  of  his  temperance 
committee  as  they  passed  in  the  walk  and  then 
turned  as  if  not  believing  their  eyes.  His 
whole  soul  was  on  the  rescue  of  this  poor  bit 
of  human  wreckage  that  God  had  thrown  into 
his  way. 

"We  will  not  leave  you  alone  in  your  strug- 
gle," he  went  on.  "We  will  help  you  and  sym- 
pathize with  you  at  every  step.  We  know  just 
how  hard  it  is  going  to  be."  The  tone  in  his 
voice  seemed  to  thrill  her  strangely.  She 
looked  up  into  his  face  again,  her  eyes  wet  and 
sparkling,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"We  will  go  now,"  he  said,  softly.  She  took 
his  arm  without  a  word  and  started  with  him 


70  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

she  knew  not  whither.  "I  shall  take  you  to  the 
little  Rescue  Mission  on  Water  Street — Mother 
Brown's  Home/'  he  explained.  "You'll  love 
her,  I  know  you  will.  She  will  care  for  you 
like  a  real  mother  till  we  can  make  further 
plans." 

"No,  no,  I  can't  go  there."  She  stopped 
short  and  looked  up  at  him  pleadingly.  "Please 
don't  make  me  go.  I  can't.  I  simply  won't 
meet  any  more  of  those  good  women." 

"Ah,  but  this  is  different.  Mother  Brown 
knows  you  are  coming.  She  is  watching  for 
you  this  minute.  Come."  Again  she  looked 
up  at  him  and  obeyed. 

"It  is  all  coming  right,"  he  went  on,  sooth- 
ingly. "You  have  got  the  whole  future  to  live 
in,  and  kind  hearts  and  hands  are  all  about  you, 
ready  to  help  you.  Remember  you  are  with 
friends  now  who  believe  in  you.  Ah,  that's 
Mother  Brown  now.  See,  she  is  at  the  door 
already."  He  swung  open  the  gate,  and  then 
with  a  "God  bless  you"  he  left  the  two  women 
together. 

Gait  did  not  go  through  the  park;  he  took 
the  nearest  route  to  his  rooms.  A  great  joy 
was  in  him :  he  had  won ;  he  had  rescued  from 
destruction  a  precious  human  soul.  The 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  71 

thought  rendered  him  for  the  time  oblivious 
of  all  things  else.  It  might  perhaps  have 
frightened  him  had  he  known  what  he  had 
really  done,  but  now  he  did  not  know  and  he 
rejoiced. 

A  sudden  voice  at  his  elbow  made  him  turn 
sharply. 

"Hello-o-o,  Johnny!     Where're  you  going?" 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Dick?" 

"Sure.  Had  your  lunch  yet?  Come  right 
along." 

"No,  Dick." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  No  excuses  now.  You 
are  going  to  eat  your  lunch  to-day  right  here 
with  me  at  Larry's.  Step  lively  now."  Dick 
seized  the  pastor's  arm  and  a  moment  later 
he  had  found  his  favorite  seat  and  was  scan- 
ning the  menu  with  practised  eye. 

"Now,  this  is  fine,"  he  cried,  rubbing  his 
hands  gleefully.  "Eating  alone  is  like  loading 
a  gun;  you  cram  down  things  just  to  keep 
you  alive  and  then  you  bolt.  Say,  how  would 
a  lobster  newberg  go?  'Bout  right,  isn't  it? 
Now  for  the  harrowing  tale,  Johnny." 

"The  tale?" 

"Yes,  out  with  it.  What  did  you  do  with 
her?" 


72  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I  took  her  to  Mother  Brown's  Mission  on 
Water  Street,  and  she  will  stay  there  for  the 
present  and  work  for  her  board." 

"And  the  girl  went?  And  she  is  going  to 
stay?"  He  turned  and  looked  at  Gait  sharply. 

"Yes." 

"And  the  old  woman's  a  saint?" 

"As  near  as  you'll  find  one  in  this  world, 
though  she  is  not  a  church  woman.  She  is  a 
sort  of  self-constituted  worker  among  fallen 
women,  and  she  has  been  there  for  forty  years. 
She  knows  just  what  the  girl  needs.  She  will 
give  her  sympathy — not  pity,  but  sympathy — 
and  that  is  about  all  that  can  be  given  now. 
Only  a  woman  can  give  that." 

"Well,  I'll  be— bow-wowed!"  He  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at  Gait.  "And 
the  girl's  going  to  stay?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

"See  here,  Johnny,  do  you  know  that's 
genius?  It's  a  crime  to  tie  a  man  like  you 
down  to  that  cussed  bunch  of  old  maids  you 
call  a  church.  You've  got  a  future,  Johnny. 
I  take  back  all  I  said.  You  know  more  about 
women  than  I  do." 

"Isn't  that  putting  it  strong,  Dick?"  The 
pastor's  serious  face  relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is,  in  a  way.     I  have  seen 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  73 

considerable  of  one  side  of  female  nature,  but 
experience  doesn't  count  when  it  comes  to 
women.  That  requires  genius.  Take  our 
Queen  Isobella,  now — highstrung  as  the  devil, 
red-headed,  nursing  a  grievance  against  a  man 
that  would  justify  manslaughter,  with  no  more 
soul  than  a  blue-bottle  fly,  so  sure  she  is  down 
and  out  that  she  dives  under  the  trolley — here 
she  tames  down  like  a  little  lamb  just  be- 
cause you  preach  her  a  pretty  sermon.  Fol- 
lowed you  right  down  the  street,  didn't  she? 
ate  out  of  your  hand  ?  Said  she'd  be  good  and 
go  to  Sunday-school,  and  learn  the  golden  text  ? 
It's  eloquent,  Johnny.  You  take  my  advice 
and  keep  your  eyes  wide  open;  you  are  a  dan- 
gerous man." 

"Dangerous !" 

"Johnny,  did  you  know  that  there  are  men 
so  constituted  that  women  swarm  around  them 
like  millers  around  an  electric  light?  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  that?" 

"You  are  jesting,  Dick.  I  haven't  any  time 
to  think  of  women  save  as  souls  to  be  won." 

"Now,  that's  just  it.  You  don't  know  it. 
You  are  running  right  into  a  wheel-pit  blind 
as  a  bat.  Now,  let  me  tell  you  something;  it's 
my  duty  to:  you  have  snapped  on  one  fiddle- 
string  so  long  that  you  can't  hear  anything 


74  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

else.  But  you  are  going  to  wake  up  with  a 
jump  one  of  these  days  and  what  you'll  see 
will  scare  you  to  death." 

"Nonsense!" 

"Well,  you  wait,  that's  all.  I  know  you 
through  and  through  and  I  have  seen  some 
little  of  human  nature.  Let  me  tell  you  this: 
there's  a  woman  somewhere,  Johnny,  who  can 
do  with  you  just  what  she  wants  to.  She's  got 
your  destiny  for  good  or  bad  right  in  her  hand. 
I  don't  care  who  the  man  is,  there  is  a  woman 
living  somewhere  who  can  lead  him  right  by 
the  nose.  He  may  never  see  her — most  men 
never  do — but  when  he  does,  then  he's  no 
longer  his  own  property.  If  she  is  good,  he 
can  thank  God,  but  if  she  is  bad — well,  a  man 
never  knows  what's  in  him  until  he  has  met 
this  woman.  This  isn't  in  the  Bible,  Johnny, 
but  it's  gospel  just  the  same." 

"That's  all  very  well  for  fun,  Dick,  but  you 
don't  understand  this  matter."  There  was  a 
note  of  impatience  in  the  pastor's  voice.  "You 
leave  one  tremendous  factor  out  of  your  reckon- 
ing every  time  and  it  brings  you  ludicrous  and 
startling  solutions.  You  leave  out  the  saving 
power  of  Jesus  Christ.  You — " 

"Whoa  there,  Johnny.  Chuck  it."  He 
raised  his  hand  in  warning.  "Nice  little  ser- 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  75 

mon,  I  haven't  a  doubt,  but  don't  preach  it. 
You  remember  Prex's  baccalaureate?  Says  I, 
'That's  a  good  sermon,  Prexie,  a  mighty  good 
sermon,  good  enough  so  I  shan't  have  to  hear 
another  for  ten  years.' ' 

"But,  Dick,  it's  the  truth." 

"It's  preaching,  and  all  preaching  is  wind. 
When  I  see  you  church  people  pitching  right 
in  and  working  that  thing,  then  it'll  be  up  to 
me  to  explain." 

"But,  Dick—" 

"Stop  it,  Johnny.  Don't  throw  your  good 
sermon  stuff  away  on  me.  Preaching  was 
made  for  women.  Say,  did  I  tell  you  that 
Freddie's  coming  this  afternoon?  She  is  go- 
ing to  spend  the  spring  here.  You  know  Fred- 
die?" 

"Yes."  The  pastor  did  remember  "Fred- 
die." There  flashed  before  him  the  memory 
of  a  week  confused  and  headlong — commence- 
ment: girls  in  white,  sisters,  sweethearts, 
mothers;  Dick's  sister,  Frieda,  who  had  fallen 
to  him  to  entertain  during  the  week.  "Yes, 
and  I  haven't  seen  her  since.  She  is  studying 
art,  I  believe." 

"No.     Freddie's  a  professional  religionist." 

"Religionist?" 

"Yes.     She's  bad  off.     She's  got  the  disease 


;6  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

they  call  Bostonitis,  and  it's  going  hard.  It 
began  with  Browning  in  the  mild  form,  fol- 
lowed by  the  virulent,  then  it  passed  into  Chris- 
tian Science,  and  now  it  is  Theosophy.  Next 
fall  I  believe  she  begins  on  Zoroasterism." 

"And  she  is  coming  here  to  teach?" 

"Precisely.  But  she  is  not  the  principal 
figure.  She  is  in  the  grip  of  a  woman,  a  Miss 
Thost — Helda  Thost.  You've  heard  of  her; 
high  priestess  of  the  esoteric  in  this  country." 

"The  name  sounds  esoteric.     Hindoo,  is  it?" 

"Pseudonym.  I  haven't  a  doubt  she  was 
born  Maggie  McMurphy.  But  she  looks  Hin- 
doo all  right,  and  she  talks  in  a  way  that  makes 
the  women  forget  their  pug  dogs.  They  follow 
her  in  shoals.  She  hooked  Freddie  the  first 
throw,  and  it's  a  cussed  shame." 

"  They  will  take  rooms  at  the  St.  Cloud,  I 
suppose." 

"No."  Dick  toyed  with  his  fork  absently. 
"They  don't  travel  in  my  class.  They  have 
hired  a  big  apartment-house  suite  on  Summer 
Street,  and  they  will  fit  it  up  like  a  Hindoo 
pagoda.  That  sort  of  business  has  got  to  be 
done  in  style,  you  know.  They  aren't  fishing 
for  minnows." 

"It  ought  to  be  stopped."  There  was  an 
angry  scowl  on  the  pastor's  face^  "A  thing 


AND  ALL  EYES  BLIND  77 

like  that  will  infect  a  whole  town  like  a  con- 
tagious disease.  They  ought  to  be  quaran- 
tined. There  is  something  about  these  fads 
that  positively  fascinates  women.  What  is  it, 
Dick,  that  predisposes  them  so  to  this  kind  of 
thing?" 

Dick  had  his  theory,  and  he  expounded  it  at 
length;  then  the  pastor  added  his  opinion  of 
Oriental  religions  and  of  newnesses  generally. 
Somehow  the  news  of  Miss  Thost's  coming 
nettled  him.  As  an  hour  later  he  walked  again 
down  the  street  his  joy  over  Isobel  Carniston 
was  forgotten.  He  was  planning  a  sermon 
for  the  following  Sunday  on  the  worship  of 
strange  gods. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS 

GALT  was  a  product  of  the  early,  vital  days 
of  the  Northfield  movement.  His  whole 
life  had  predisposed  him  to  religious  enthusi- 
asm— his  temperament,  his  mother,  his  home, 
his  church  connection — and  when  in  his  fresh- 
man summer  he  had  come  under  the  spell  of 
Mr.  Moody,  he  had  been  one  of  the  first  to 
pledge  his  life  unreservedly  to  the  salvation  of 
men.  He  had  been  stirred  most  profoundly. 
For  him  henceforth  life  held  but  a  single  aim: 
it  was  to  be  a  barehanded  struggle  with  sin, 
a  total  renunciation  of  self,  a  surrender  of  his 
whole  powers  to  Christ  and  His  work.  He 
had  gone  forth  from  the  college  and  then  from 
the  seminary  one  of  the  most  earnest  of  that 
little  band  of  inspired  young  men  which  the 
early  Northfield,  with  its  Moody  and  its  Drum- 
mond,  had  so  marvellously  produced. 

He  had  been  in  the  ministry  for  six  years. 
He  had  gone  at  first  to  a  small  charge,  in  reality 
a  struggling  mission  station,  and  he  had  made 

78 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS        79 

of  it  a  self-supporting  church  with  a  zealous 
membership.  He  had  thrown  himself  body 
and  soul  into  the  work;  he  had  given  his  every 
moment;  he  had  worked  as  they  work  who 
snatch  helpless  victims  from  the  flames. 

He  had  been  very  simple  in  his  pastoral 
methods,  even  primitive.  He  had  tried  to 
work  as  Christ  had  worked,  to  touch  the  soul 
by  first  ministering  to  the  body.  He  had  en- 
tered intimately  into  the  daily  lives  of  his  peo- 
ple. Preaching  he  had  made  incidental ;  it  was 
but  a  means  to  an  end.  It  was  not  its  function, 
he  believed,  to  amuse  or  to  instruct;  it  was  to 
arouse  to  action.  It  was  a  warning  of  danger, 
a  pointing  out  of  refuge,  a  call  to  work.  It 
was  ever  intensely  personal.  It  arose  from 
present  conditions  among  those  to  whom  it 
came,  and  it  went  always  from  him  winged 
with  tremendous  conviction.  When  in  the  full 
current  of  his  message  he  seemed  always  like 
one  inspired.  As  he  got  deeper  and  deeper 
into  his  theme,  his  eyes  would  kindle,  his  wan, 
spiritual  face  would  glow,  and  his  voice  would 
quiver  with  rapt  intensity.  He  preached  as  to 
dying  men  now  given  their  last  chance  for  sal- 
vation. 

It  had  been  largely  this  sermonic  power  that 
had  brought  him  his  call  from  the  rich  and 


8o  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

exclusive  North  Street  congregation  in  the 
heart  of  the  great  manufacturing  city.  His 
personality  too  had  been  an  element.  He  was 
a  man  of  striking  appearance.  He  was  of 
scholarly  figure,  tall  and  thin,  and  he  was  quick 
and  nervous  of  temperament.  His  hair  in- 
tensely black,  was  very  abundant.  His  thin, 
smooth  face,  sallow  yet  dark  from  the  shaven 
beard,  his  square  jaw  accurately  hung,  his  eyes 
deep-set  and  piercing,  mystic  and  speculative,  or 
kindling  with  enthusiasm  and  flashing  with  fire 
as  he  preached — all  combined  to  form  a  person- 
ality quite  unusual.  There  was,  too,  a  vitality 
and  a  magnetic  power  about  the  man  that  made 
him  a  natural  leader,  especially  of  women.  He 
was  one  whom  no  church  would  be  ashamed  to 
point  out  as  their  pastor. 

And  the  beginning  of  his  work  had  showed 
them  the  wisdom  of  their  choice.  He  had 
started  out  with  all  the  zeal  and  thoroughness 
that  had  characterized  his  earlier  pastorate. 
He  was  willing,  and  more  than  willing,  to  do 
his  part.  He  infused  new  life  into  every  de- 
partment. The  membership,  especially  the 
feminine  three-quarters,  had  rallied  about  him 
with  enthusiasm;  the  congregation  on  Sunday 
mornings  had  almost  doubled;  the  committees 
and  the  organizations  had  sprung  into  new  life. 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       Si 

Even  those  who  had  been  doubtful  at  first  of  the 
experiment  of  taking  an  unknown  young  man 
from  a  country  parish  for  the  delicate  work  of 
a  rich  and  exclusive  city  church,  who  had  in- 
deed consented  to  the  young  man  only  after 
Mr.  Bradley's  "Leave  him  to  me.  I  will  keep 
him  in  line" — even  these  were  delighted.  At 
last  they  had  found  a  man. 

But  after  the  first  few  months  Gait  had  be- 
gun to  awaken  to  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  He 
was  becoming  more  and  more  conscious  of  a 
state  of  affairs  that  was  utterly  foreign  to  his 
earlier  pastorate.  A  city  church  is  an  intricate 
mechanism ;  it  has  wheels  within  wheels,  socie- 
ties within  societies,  committees  and  sub-com- 
mittees, funds  of  every  variety,  clubs  without 
number — for  boys,  for  girls,  for  men,  for 
babies  even — mothers'  clubs,  cooking  clubs, 
handiwork  clubs,  athletic  clubs — organization 
without  end.  To  co-ordinate  all  this  activity, 
to  direct  and  vitalize  it,  requires  force  and 
executive  power.  The  pastor  soon  realized 
that  it  was  taking  almost  his  entire  energies 
to  keep  moving  the  wheels  within  wheels. 

His  early  vision  of  the  pastor's  life  had  come 
almost  wholly  from  the  four  Gospels.  The 
church,  as  he  conceived  it,  was  simply  an  em- 
bodiment of  these  Gospels.  It  was  the  actual 


82  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

presence  of  Christ  on  earth,  and  the  pastor  was 
His  representative.  To  come  in  daily  contact 
with  sin  and  suffering,  to  lend  a  hand  to  the 
perishing,  to  lift  up,  to  bring  light  into  dark 
places,  joy  to  sorrow,  ease  to  anguish — this 
was  the  pastor's  work.  He  was  to  be  the  toil- 
ing missionary  and  his  people  were  to  stand 
about  him  and  hold  up  his  hands. 

This  had  been  his  ideal.  This  had  been  the 
reason  why  he  had  consented  to  go  to  the  city 
church.  It  would  give  him  the  field  that  he 
had  always  longed  for — the  great  teeming  pop- 
ulation with  its  misery  and  degradation  and 
sin.  He  could  touch  more  lives ;  he  could  come 
into  contact  there  with  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  in  the  ranks  of  sin.  But  how  dif- 
ferent he  was  finding  his  actual  work.  His 
pastoral  life  had  resolved  itself  into  sermons 
to  those  who  seemed  to  hear,  yet  did  nothing; 
earnest  counsel  to  those  who  were  bound  hand 
and  foot  by  convention;  into  pastoral  visits 
that  were  mere  formal  social  calls;  into  half- 
concealed  rivalry  with  other  churches  even  in 
the  same  denomination ;  into  the  management  of 
committees  and  clubs  and  funds  and  collections, 
some  of  them  not  at  all  spiritual ;  into  hard  work 
done  ever  with  an  eye  to  the  annual  report: 
so  many  added  to  the  church,  an  increase  of 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       83 

so  many  per  cent,  over  last  year;  of  so  many 
dollars  to  the  missionary  fund,  an  increase  of 
such  and  such  an  amount  over  last  year;  of  so 
many  pastoral  calls,  so  many  baptisms  and  so 
many  conversions;  of  so  many  dollars  raised 
by  this  and  that  committee  for  this  and  that 
purpose,  a  clear  gain  over  last  year — "a  good 
report,  brother,  a  good  report!"  But  was  it 
worth  the  while  to  spend  himself  for  these,  and 
leave  all  untouched  the  great  suffering  world 
about  him?  Was  not  the  machine  becoming 
so  complicated  that  it  was  taking  the  whole 
power  merely  to  keep  it  in  motion?  His 
preaching  was  beginning  to  turn  more  and 
more  to  the  gospel  of  the  heart  of  things;  he 
began  to  dwell  with  increasing  emphasis  on 
the  need  of  getting  back  to  the  spirit  of  Christ's 
message;  but  it  seemed  that  he  was  preaching 
into  the  empty  air.  Convention  ruled  his  audi- 
ence as  with  iron;  the  church  was  in  a  rut;  it 
seemed  powerless  to  help  itself ;  it  even  seemed 
unconscious  that  it  was  in  a  rut  at  all. 

The  true  condition  of  affairs  had  first  dawned 
upon  Gait  in  the  weekly  prayer-meeting,  that 
infallible  thermometer  of  the  spiritual  life  of 
the  church.  He  had  early  found  it  a  thing  of 
marvellous  variations.  It  was  as  sensitive  to 
atmospheric  conditions  as  a  barometer:  the 


84  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

attendance  rose  and  fell  with  the  mercury,  and 
with  the  months  almost  as  if  ruled  by  the  moon. 
It  registered  every  wave  of  local  novelty  and 
public  excitement  in  the  city  like  a  seismograph. 
A  holiday  or  a  new  actress  might  reduce  the 
attendance  nine-tenths.  No  two  meetings  were 
ever  alike:  a  small  invariable  constant  there 
was,  mostly  of  women,  and  about  this  nucleus 
gathered  more  or  less.  But  however  the  com- 
position might  vary,  the  character  of  the  service 
was  stationary.  The  pastor  before  Gait,  a 
hard-working,  long-suffering  man,  had  once 
made  the  remark  that  the  North  Street  prayer- 
meeting  had  first  run  to  singing  and  then  to 
seed.  Which  was  not  bad  philosophy. 

It  was  not  a  prayer-meeting  at  all.  An 
address  by  the  pastor  was  expected — an  in- 
formal talk  on  the  trees  or  the  rivers  or  the 
animals  of  the  Bible,  or  on  the  history  of  some 
hymn,  or  on  some  current  event  or  some  golden 
text  of  the  Sunday-school  lesson.  Then  there 
were  two  or  three  prayers,  always  from  the 
same  little  circle,  then  singing  introduced  per- 
haps  with  the  story  of  the  hymn,  but  always 
and  everlastingly  singing. 

Mrs.  Perkins  had  just  called  for,  "My  All 
is  on  the  Altar,"  and  was  leading  with  unction. 
Somehow  the  revolt  that  had  been  smoldering 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       85 

all  the  week  in  the  pastor's  mind  flamed  up  hot 
and  fierce  as  he  listened.  How  many  of  them 
could  honestly  say  those  words  ?  It  was  in  his 
heart  to  rise  at  the  close  of  the  song  and  remind 
them  that  they  had  previously  sung  "I'll  Go 
Where  You  Want  Me  to  Go,"  and  "All,  Yes, 
All  I  Give  to  Jesus,"  and  then  to  remind  them 
that  it  was  positively  wicked  to  say  such  words 
unless  from  the  heart,  but  he  checked  himself. 

The  meeting  dragged  on  in  the  old  ruts.  The 
usual  prayers,  said,  it  seemed,  with  reluctance 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  the  same  old  testimonies, 
and  then  singing,  always  singing — prayers, 
pleadings,  exultations,  promises,  that  had  once 
burst  tremulous,  tearful,  ecstatic  from  saintly 
and  consecrated  hearts,  tossed  off  flippantly 
from  the  lips  of  those  who  cared  but  for  the  lilt 
of  the  melody.  And  now  they  were  singing 
"Abide  With  Me,"  of  which  Gait  had  once  said, 
"That  is  not  a  hymn;  that  is  a  naked  human 
soul." 

Mr.  Bradley  was  present  and  he  had  opened 
the  meeting  with  prayer,  an  exercise  in  which 
he  was  gifted.  He  came  but  seldom;  he  was 
a  busy  man  and  had  duties  that  were  impera- 
tive, but  whenever  he  did  come,  the  meeting 
centred  about  him.  He  prided  himself  on 
being  a  "worker"  and  he  prayed  and  exhorted 


86  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  called  for  hymns  with  the  breezy  air  of 
one  who  was  heart  and  soul  in  the  work,  one 
who  put  into  a  meeting  all  the  power  and 
energy  that  he  put  into  his  daily  work. 

With  the  benediction  the  congregation  at 
once  broke  into  little  groups.  All  shook  hands 
and  talked  and  laughed  as  at  a  reception.  It 
was  always  a  social  event.  Young  men  were 
introduced  to  young  ladies,  committee  chairmen 
met  their  members  and  made  plans,  mothers 
inquired  of  children  and  compared  notes  on  the 
progress  of  epidemics. 

At  the  door  Gait  found  Mr.  Bradley  appar- 
ently waiting  for  him. 

"I  am  going  right  down  your  way,"  he 
announced,  briskly.  "We  will  walk  down 
together." 

"With  pleasure." 

This  was  unusual.  The  pastor  glanced  curi- 
ously at  the  square  figure  as  they  swung  off 
down  the  sidewalk,  and  wondered  what  might 
be  coming.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  a  certain  mat- 
ter, Pastor."  He  came  very  near  to  the  young 
man  and  lowered  his  voice  confidentially.  "I 
am,  as  you  know,  a  man  of  business,  and  it  is 
not  my  way  to  beat  about  the  bush." 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS        87 

"Ah." 

"I  told  you  when  you  came  that  I  should  tell 
you  frankly  of  any  mistakes  you  might  make, 
and  tell  you  at  once.  Now  it  has  come  to  a 
place  where  it  is  my  duty  to  speak."  He  paused 
a  moment  and  cleared  his  throat.  His  voice 
was  deep  of  compass,  in  business  matters  al- 
ways gruff  and  hard.  There  was  an  air  of  de- 
cision and  authority  about  him  that  somehow 
carried  conviction,  whether  one  would  or  not. 
"You  have  been  trying,  it  seems,  to  help  a  cer- 
tain woman  who  is  well  known  in  this  town,  and 
you  have  done  it  in  a  way  that,  to  speak  with 
perfect  frankness,  has  caused  considerable  talk, 
I  might  even  say  scandal." 

"Scandal!"  The  pastor,  taken  utterly  by 
surprise,  could  only  gasp.  "Why — why,  what 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"Now,  don't  misunderstand  me.  I  have  told 
you  that  it  is  simply  a  case  of  a  matter  wrongly 
handled.  You  must  realize,  if  you  stop  to 
think,  that  to  be  seen  walking  the  streets  late 
at  night  with  such  a  woman  and  to  be  seen 
sitting  with  her  in  secluded  spots  in  the  park 
can  only  lead  our  young  people  to  make 
remarks." 

"But  I  had  just  rescued  the  woman  from 


88  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

death.  She  was  in  no  condition  to  go  home 
alone.  She  was  dazed  and  half-demented 
and—" 

"There  were  policemen;  an  ambulance  could 
have  been  sent  for;  a  mission  worker  could 
have  been  called.  Now  I  do  this  in  all  kind- 
ness. It  is  just  here  that  you  need  advice.  It 
is  my  duty  to  give  it.  You  are  new  to  city 
ways.  You  don't  realize  what  it  means  and 
what  care  must  be  taken  at  every  step.  I  don't 
question  your  motive  for  an  instant;  it  isn't 
that  at  all;  I  know  what  you  were  doing;  it  is 
your  method.  You  must  remember  that  you 
are  in  a  city,  the  pastor  of  a  great,  influential 
city  church,  and  that  the  yellow  journals  have 
their  scandal  nets  spread  in  every  direction  like 
spider-webs.  What  if  one  of  their  miserable 
sensation-mongers  had  seen  you  the  other 
night  ?  The  plain  truth  is  that  no  man,  I  don't 
care  who  he  is  or  what  his  object,  can  dare  to 
be  seen  with  that  woman,  day  or  night.  The 
world  is  capable  of  drawing  but  a  single  con- 
clusion, and  it  will  draw  it  every  time,  I  don't 
care  if  you  are  the  angel  Gabriel.  And  remem- 
ber that  you  have  got  not  yourself  to  think  of, 
but  the  church.  Our  church  absolutely  can  not 
be  connected  with  any  such  story,  come  from 
where  it  may." 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       89 

"But,  Mr.  Bradley,  consider."  There  was  a 
quiver  that  was  very  much  like  anger  in  the 
pastor's  voice.  "Would  you  let  her  go  to  de- 
struction and  make  no  effort  to  save  her  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  though  I  admit  that  the  sav- 
ing of  that  woman  would  be  about  on  the  same 
scale  as  the  cleansing  of  a  dunghill.  To  speak 
very  plainly,  Mr.  Gait,  she  is  a  prostitute,  the 
vilest  of  the  vile.  She  is  absolutely  abandoned 
and  past  all  hope.  There  is  nothing  whatever 
left  to  appeal  to.  She  may  look  sweet  and  in- 
nocent, but  that  is  her  trade;  that  is  the  pecul- 
iarly dangerous  thing  about  the  matter ;  that  is 
what  makes  the  young  people  talk.  She  is 
hopeless,  Mr.  Gait;  she  is  without  one  vestige 
of  womanliness,  or  shame,  or  truth.  I  have 
lived  in  this  city  all  my  life  and  I  know  the 
heart  of  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Bradley,"  he  burst  out  hotly,  "sup- 
pose she  is  all  you  say  she  is,  should  I  have  let 
her  perish?  Should  I  have  thrown  her  into 
the  streets  again  with  the  suicide  mania  upon 
her?  She  would  have  taken  her  life." 

"No  great  loss  to  the  town." 

"Why,  Mr.  Bradley!" 

"Remember,  Pastor,  what  a  frightful  source 
of  corruption  such  a  woman  is  in  a  city.  Bet- 
ter one  than  a  dozen.  And  as  to  saving  her, 


90  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

that's  romance.  A  woman  who  has  reached 
that  stage  has  surrendered  absolutely  every- 
thing, and  is  past  working  for.  There  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  left  to  appeal  to." 

"I  deny  that,  Mr.  Bradley,  with  all  the  em- 
phasis of  my  soul."  He  turned  to  the  man, 
with  a  flash  in  his  eyes.  "No  sinner  is  without 
hope  so  long  as  he  has  life.  There  is  hope, 
'though  your  sins  be  red  like  crimson.'  She 
has  precisely  as  much  hope  as  you  or  I.  I  don't 
care  what  she  has  done;  she  needed  help  and 
in  Christ's  name  I  gave  it.  It  was  my  duty, 
if  I  call  myself  a  follower  of  Him.  He  stooped 
to  help  the  loWest.  If  the  church  does  not  do 
these  things,  who  will?" 

"Mr.  Gait,  you  misunderstand  me  completely ; 
I  have  told  you  that  that  is  not  the  question." 
It  angered  the  min  to  be  opposed.  His  face, 
as  the  pastor  saw^it  in  the  half  light,  looked 
square  and  hard  as  if  hammered  out  of  copper. 
The  iron-gray  hair  under  his  silk  hat  seemed 
to  bristle  in  short,  angry  stubs.  "It  is  not  the 
doing  at  all,  it  is  the  method  of  the  doing.  It 
is  not  the  place  of  the  pastor  of  a  large  and 
influential  city  church  to  work  in  actual  contact 
with  prostitutes.  You  have  got  to  deal  with 
them  as  you  do  with  smallpox,  by  means  of 
organizations.  My  point  is  here :  you  say  noth- 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       91 

ing  to  anybody,  then  all  at  once  the  young  folks 
and  the  town  see  you  walking  at  midnight  and 
in  the  parks  in  the  most  intimate  manner  with 
a  beautiful  and  fascinating  and  perfectly 
dressed  young  lady  whose  profession  all  know. 
They  know  your  newness  to  city  life,  and  they 
think  that  you  do  not  know  who  she  is.  Do 
you  wonder  they  talk?  That  is  not  the  work 
of  a  city  minister." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  I  should  have  done? 
The  girl  threw  herself  under  the  cars  at  my 
feet  and  I  saved  her  life.  I  did  not  go  down 
into  the  slums  to  find  her.  She  was  thrown  by 
God  into  my  path,  a  piece  of  h(dman  wreckage 
for  me  to  save.  Dare  I  disobey?  Was  it  for 
me  to  send  her  away  again  and  not  try  to  do 
all  I  could  to  help  her?  What  should  I  have 
done?" 

"Just  this:  your  first  step  Sunday  night  was 
all  right;  but  having  rescued  her  from  under 
the  car,  your  next  step  was  to  have  telephoned 
to  a  city  missionary,  who  would  have  come 
immediately  and  have  placed  her  in  the  hands 
of  the  Society  for  the  Aid  of  Fallen  Women. 
They  would  have  taken  up  the  case  in  the  light 
of  long  experience.  The  girl  would  have  been 
in  the  hands  of  experts  who  would  have  known 
precisely  what  to  do.  Now,  that  is  organiza- 


92  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

tion ;  our  church  is  a  part  of  it ;  we  give  liberally, 
and  some  of  our  members  are  trustees  and  ex- 
amine the  institutions  frequently.  That  is 
business;  that's  modern  organization.  The 
pastor  of  the  church  has  all  he  can  do  to  keep 
active  these  organizations  for  relief;  it  is  not 
his  part  to  do  their  work,  any  more  than  it 
is  the  work  of  the  captain  of  the  ship  to  scrub 
the  deck." 

"It  may  be  business,"  the  pastor  broke  out, 
hotly,  "but  it  is  not  Christ."  He  stood  very 
straight  and  tall  and  he  looked  the  man  squarely 
in  the  eyes.  "I  did  precisely  what  Christ  would 
have  done.  The  pastor  of  a  Christian  church, 
and  every  one  of  his  church  members,  ought 
to  be  doing  such  deeds  every  day  of  the  year. 
If  the  young  people  are  offended,  or  if  they 
make  gossip  of  such  a  thing,  then  they  are  in 
a  state  of  mind  that  should  debar  them  from 
good  society.  'To  the  pure  all  things  are 
pure/  ' 

"Careful,  Pastor."  In  forty  years  the  old 
man  had  not  been  opposed  like  this.  The  pas- 
tors usually  had  been  lamb-like  and  submissive, 
dominated  completely  by  his  tremendous  per- 
sonality. "You  are  in  a  city  and  you  have  got 
to  adapt  yourself  to  the  city  point  of  view  if 
you  are  going  to  do  the  slightest  bit  of  good. 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       93 

Monastery  life  will  not  go  here.  A  man  has 
got  to  be  practical  in  his  religion  and  use  com- 
mon sense." 

"Do  you  mean  that  there  is  a  standard  higher 
than  the  four  Gospels  ?  He  gave  His  hand  to 
the  very  vilest  and  why  shouldn't  I?"  There 
was  a  dangerous  gleam  in  the  deep  eyes;  the 
face  was  set  in  rigid  lines.  "I  can  tell  you  this, 
Mr.  Bradley,  when  a  sinner  comes  in  my  way 
who  needs  help  I  shall  treat  her  as  if  she  were 
my  own  sister  in  need  of  help.  Under  the  same 
circumstances  I  shall  do  precisely  the  same 
thing  again.  If  my  people  are  offended,  then 
they  need  a  rebaptism  with  the  spirit  of  Jesus 
Christ." 

"Mr.  Gait,  you  are  on  dangerous  ground." 

"I  stand  on  Christ  and  the  four  Gospels; 
that's  all  I  know." 

"You  have  got  to  use  common  sense  even 
with  the  Gospels."  There  was  anger  in  his 
voice.  "Now  I  know  this  city  and  I  know  our 
people,  and  I  will  tell  you  right  now  that  if  you 
keep  on  trying  to  help  this  woman  in  the  way 
you  have  done,  there'll  be  a  scandal  here  that 
will  do  a  harm  to  the  church  that  the  saving 
of  a  hundred  such  women  could  not  offset. 
You  can't  touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled.  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  lived  in  this  city  until  I  know 


94  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

whereof  I  speak,  and  I  say  what  is  God's 
truth,  that  unless  you  drop  this  case  utterly  and 
instantly  it  will  stir  up  trouble  for  you  and  for 
all  of  us  and  it  will  weaken  our  church.  I  don't 
care  what  your  motive  may  be,  the  church  sim- 
ply will  not  have  you  seen  publicly  with  a 
woman  like  that.  That  is  my  last  word,  and 
I  mean  it.  If  you  are  wise,  you  will  consider 
it  with  diligence  and  prayer.  Remember,  I  am 
speaking  for  your  good  and  for  the  good  of 
the  Church  of  Christ.  I  leave  you  here.  Good 
night."  He  wheeled  and  walked  with  stiff, 
nervous  steps  up  the  side  street. 

Gait  had  a  swift  impulse  to  hasten  after  him 
and  continue  the  argument,  but  he  thought  bet- 
ter of  it. 

In  his  room  he  threw  himself  into  his  easy 
chair  without  turning  on  his  light.  The  clock 
was  striking  nine ;  the  heavy  tones  boomed  out 
solemnly  in  the  stillness. 

And  his  church  work  had  come  to  this.  He 
had  been  chided  by  his  leading  official  for 
attempting  to  rescue  a  perishing  human  soul. 
By  sheer  will-power  he  controlled  himself  and 
tried  to  look  at  the  matter  dispassionately. 
Had  he  perhaps  been  unwise?  Mr.  Bradley 
was  an  old  man,  full  of  experience  and  wisdom, 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       95 

and  he  was  but  a  boy  who  knew  little  of  city 
life.  It  was  not  for  him  to  be  hasty  and  hot- 
headed. But  where  had  he  erred?  Could  he 
in  the  face  of  Christ's  teachings  have  done  oth- 
erwise? Had  it  not  been  the  very  soul  of  His 
mission  to  help  the  vilest,  to  give  His  own  hand 
and  His  own  self  even  to  the  dregs  of  men,  to 
those  indeed  whom  the  haughty  religious  sys- 
tem of  His  day  had  cast  out?  The  thought 
made  him  indignant  again.  And  this  was  his 
church  work;  this  was  what  he  had  been  pre- 
paring all  his  life  to  do.  Was  he  not  fettered 
and  bound?  Was  he  not  in  reality  the  execu- 
tive of  an  exclusive  social  club.  An  impulse 
surged  upon  him  to  cut  loose  altogether  and  to 
be  free  as  Christ  was  free. 

He  arose  quickly  in  the  darkness.  For 
shame!  Ready  to  quit  the  fight  at  the  first 
encounter !  Had  he  not  given  his  life  to  God  ? 
Had  he  forgotten  that  marvellous  day  at  North- 
field  when  there  had  come  upon  him  the  vision 
of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  ?  How  easy 
and  how  natural  it  had  all  seemed  then,  and 
how  glorious.  "I  can  do  all  things  through 
Christ  who  strengthened  me,"  he  murmured 
aloud.  He  turned  on  the  light.  He,  must  fly 
to  the  word  of  God,  where  alone  there  was  help. 


96  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

But  he  had  scarcely  taken  his  Bible  when  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door.  A  bell-boy  answered 
his  "Come!" 

"Message  for  you,  suh!" 

It  was  in  a  hotel  envelope.  He  tore  it  open 
nervously. 

"DEAR  JOHNNY: 

"We  called  for  you  at  eight ;  forgot  all  about 
meeting,  but  there's  time  yet.  We're  off  on  the 
car,  but  shall  be  at  Larry's  at  ten.  Freddie 
came  Monday,  and  we  are  just  celebrating. 
She's  along.  Come  without  fail;  come  for 
God's  sake.  If  you  ever  loved  me,  Johnny, 
come. 

"DICK." 

He  dropped  back  into  the  chair  and  read  the 
note  over  slowly.  His  impulse  was  to  go  in- 
stantly, but  prudence  and  conscience  restrained 
him.  Here  were  three  open  and  even  militant 
foes  of  his  church,  and  why  should  he  dine  with 
them  in  a  public  restaurant  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night?  If  it  were  only  Dick  alone.  Somehow 
he  longed  for  Dick ;  his  heart  was  crying  aloud 
for  sympathy.  He  was  at  a  crisis  and  besides 
Dick  there  was  not  a  soul  in  the  whole  city  to 
whom  he  could  pour  out  his  heart  and  expect 
comprehension.  Dick  understood  him.  If  it 


THE  FORM  OF  GODLINESS       97 

were  even  Dick  and  his  sister,  he  might  go. 
She  was  a  jolly,  laughing  girl,  as  he  remem- 
bered her,  very  human  and  sympathetic.  The- 
osophy  was  doubtless  but  a  passing  fad  with 
her — but  the  woman!  Was  she  not  an  open 
foe  to  all  that  his  church  stood  for?  Was  she 
not  upholding  here  in  a  Christian  land  the  very 
heathenism  which  the  church  at  great  sacrifice 
was  sending  out  missionaries  to  combat  ?  She 
was  worse  than  an  infidel.  She  was  one  of 
those  coarse,  masculine,  strong-minded  women 
who  are  found  ever  in  the  van  of  all  latter-day 
newnesses.  Thost — there  was  a  ring  of  an- 
archy in  the  name.  She  would  have  a  loud 
voice,  and  she  would  dominate  the  table  with 
her  arguments ;  she  would  roar  him  down  and, 
worst  of  all,  in  her  shallowness  she  would  hon- 
estly think  that  she  had  had  the  better  of  the 
debate.  There  is  no  arguing  with  blatant 
ignorance.  He  would  not  go.  He  shrank 
instinctively  from  all  that  such  a  woman  stands 
for. 

But  Dick!  He  looked  again  at  the  well- 
known  handwriting.  How  like  Dick  it  was, 
full  of  quirks  and  unexpected  little  curls,  but 
firm  and  dependable  and  clear.  And  Dick 
wanted  him:  "If  ever  you  loved  me,  Johnny, 
come."  A  great  wave  of  loneliness  swept  over 


98  THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  pastor.  By  an  impulse  he  pulled  out  his 
watch — ten  minutes.  There  was  just  time. 
For  a  moment  he  sat  looking  waveringly  at 
the  watch,  then  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized 
his  hat  and  coat,  and  started  out  into  the  dark- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  SETTER  FORTH  OF  STRANGE  GODS 

GALT  was  only  a  moment  late;  it  seemed 
indeed  as  if  he  were  keeping  an  appoint- 
ment. The  attendant  at  the  door,  who  seemed 
to  be  waiting,  took  his  hat  and  coat  and  ushered 
him  into  a  small  side  dining-room.  The  sud- 
den blaze  of  light  as  the  door  swung  open  daz- 
zled the  pastor.  He  stopped  and  blinked  ludi- 
crously, his  eyes  full  of  the  darkness.  The  glit- 
ter of  silver  and  glass,  the  ruddy  glow  from 
the  lamp-shades,  the  American  Beauty  roses, 
and  the  sheen  of  napery  and  linen  seemed  com- 
pletely to  fill  the  room.  A  moment,  and  Dick 
had  him  by  the  hand  with  a  grip  that  made  the 
joints  crackle. 

"I  knew  it,  Johnny;  I  knew  you  would 
come,"  he  cried,  joyously.  "Here  you  are; 
here's  your  seat  right  here.  We've  been  wait- 
ing for  you."  He  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
pulled  him  toward  the  table  as  if  they  were 
again  students  and  this  was  a  class  banquet. 

"Freddy,"  he  cried,  halting  him  before  his 

99 


ioo          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

sister,  "this  is  the  very  Johnny  that  gave  you 
the  class  day  of  your  life.  He  hasn't  changed 
a  hair  since  you  marched  him  around  old 
Main." 

She  laughed  aloud  and  took  his  hand  im- 
pulsively with  a  grip  as  vigorous  even  as 
Dick's.  It  was  an  infectious  little  laugh,  the 
laugh  of  one  who  ripples  easily  into  merri- 
ment. 

"It's  a  real  pleasure,"  she  said  heartily. 
"But  you  have  changed,"  she  added  after  a 
moment.  "You  really  have  changed  greatly." 
She  looked  at  him  and  laughed  again.  She 
was  a  plump,  joyous  little  figure  with  a  dimpled 
chin  and  eyes  that  seemed  constantly  full  of 
merriment.  Frieda  Paine  was  the  last  person 
in  the  world  one  would  think  of  associating 
with  religious  problems  and  the  deep  things  of 
life. 

"Changed  for  the  better.  Any  change 
would  have  to  be  for  the  better,"  interpolated 
Dick. 

"Ah?  And  how?"  he  asked,  ignoring  the 
remark. 

Then  he  felt  Dick's  hand  on  his  shoulder 
again. 

"Miss  Thost,"  he  was  saying,  "the  Reverend 
John  Beecham  Gait,  pastor  of  the  North  Street 


STRANGE  GODS  101 

Church,  better  known  in  '97  circles  as 
'Johnny/  " 

Gait  turned  and  found  himself  bowing  to  a 
delicate  little  woman  who  sat  very  erect  and 
very  self-possessed,  smiling  as  if  half  amused. 
His  first  impression  was  of  frailty  and  even  of 
physical  feebleness,  but  the  impression  van- 
ished instantly  as  his  eyes  met  hers.  A  strange 
thrill  went  through 'him.  Here  was  a  person- 
ality. Never  in  his  life,  he  thought,  had  he 
seen  a  woman  so  striking.  She  had  nothing 
at  all  of  beauty  save  perhaps  an  olive  com- 
plexion singularly  clear,  and  nothing  at  all  of 
youth  and  girlishness.  Her  black  hair,  though 
she  could  not  have  been  over  thirty-five,  was 
filled  most  strikingly  with  white.  She  had  a 
foreign  look, — Spanish  perhaps  or  Italian, — 
and  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  the  slightest 
trace  of  accent. 

"I  am  pleased  to  know  you,  Mr.  Gait,"  she 
said,  simply,  but  she  did  not  bow  and  she  did 
not  offer  him  her  hand. 

"You  see,  Johnny,"  Dick  ran  on,  taking  his 
seat  again  with  elaborate  deliberation,  "this  is 
the  return  of  the  prodigal  daughter.  I  haven't 
seen  Freddie  for  two  years  and  it's  up  to  me. 
This  is  the  fatted  calf.  First,  we  had  to  do  the 
town  of  course.  We  went  by  way  of  the  St. 


102          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Cloud  to  get  you,  but  I'd  entirely  forgotten 
about  its  being  the  night  you  round  up  the 
old  maids  and  count  'em  and  salt  'em.  Too 
bad,  Johnny." 

"Why,  Dick!"  His  sister  looked  at  him  a 
moment  in  real  astonishment  and  then  went  off 
into  a  little  ripple  of  laughter  that  shook  her 
greatly. 

"Yes,  I  forgot  all  about  your  prayer-meet- 
ing, so  I  left  the  note  and  here  you  are  to  the 
minute,  and  you  a  preacher.  How  is  it  that 
Shakespeare  says  it,  'Punctual,  but  yet  a  par- 
son'?" 

"Why,  Dick,  you  made  that  up."  Frieda 
Paine,  though  she  laughed  easily,  was  not 
greatly  gifted  with  humor.  "Shakespeare 
never  wrote  that." 

"Well,  suppose  he  didn't;  why  do  you  criti- 
cise me?"  He  looked  over  at  her  as  if  really 
offended.  "Am  I  to  blame  for  what  Shake- 
speare didn't  write?" 

Miss  Thost  looked  up  quickly  and  then 
smiled  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  stimulate  Dick. 
It  was  worth  saying  one's  best  to  have  her  face 
light  up  like  that.  He  launched  out  with  ani- 
mation into  a  harangue  upon  his  conception  of 
the  pastor's  place  in  modern  civilization. 

"Yes,"  he  cried  at  length,  waving  his  fork 


STRANGE  GODS  103 

airily  over  the  salad.  "It's  the  spinster  now 
who  makes  and  unmakes  the  parson.  The 
churches  are  manned  by  women.  It's  just  as 
Browning  has  put  it,  'The  distaff  props  the 
altar.'  " 

"Browning!"  sniffed  his  sister. 

"Sure  thing.  Don't  you  know  your  Brown- 
ing? That's  in 'Sludge.' " 

He  was  at  his  best.  Somehow  the  silent 
little  woman  beside  him,  so  sensitive  and  so 
responsive  to  his  every  word  and  mood,  seemed 
to  work  upon  him  like  wine.  In  reality,  de- 
spite his  claims  to  a  knowledge  of  the  sex,  Dick 
knew  very  little  about  women.  Outside  of  the 
courtroom  he  had  met  very  few  of  them.  He 
hated  society  and  never  entered  it.  For  years 
his  home,  so  far  as  he  had  had  one,  had  been 
the  Blackstone  Club,  where  he  occupied  two 
rooms,  both  of  them  littered  like  a  college 
student's.  He  took  breakfast  and  lunch  at 
Larry's;  he  dined  always  at  the  club  at  eight; 
he  smoked  a  cigar  over  a  game  or  two  of  pool ; 
then  he  read  the  evening  papers  and  talked 
athletics  or  politics  or  racing  for  a  time  and 
went  to  bed.  Sometimes  when  the  mood  was 
"on  him  he  went  to  the  theatre,  and  on  Saturday 
afternoons  in  the  season  he  attended  the  base- 
ball games,  but  the  rest  of  his  time  he  gave 


104          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

heart  and  soul  to  the  law  firm  of  Harding, 
Harding  &  Paine.  He  had  not  married,  as  he 
always  explained  it,  because  his  mistress,  the 
law,  was  too  infernally  jealous  to  permit  such 
a  thing.  He  had  no  time,  and  besides  he  had 
no  high  opinion  of  women.  He  had  never  seen 
one  yet  who  was  not  a  doll  or  else  a  fool.  The 
law  was  enough  for  him:  it  was  his  wife  and 
family  and  home  and  religion.  One  thing  only 
had  ever  vied  with  it  in  his  life.  As  the 
autumn  season  came  on  he  always  grew  rest- 
less. He  began  to  talk  at  the  club  more  and 
more  of  football.  Then  he  would  get  to  call- 
ing up  the  head  coach  of  the  university  on  the 
long-distance  to  talk  over  the  make-up  of 
the  team  and  the  prospects.  Then,  at  length, 
late  in  October,  when  he  could  endure  it  no 
longer,  he  would  wake  up  some  morning  with 
a  jump,  pull  on  his  old  clothes,  stuff  the  grimy 
old  jacket  and  sweater  and  shoes  into  a  suit- 
case, and  for  the  two  weeks  before  the  big 
game  would  be  "Bull"  Paine,  the  old  '97  half- 
back, who  had  dropped  everything  right  in  the 
busy  season  to  coach  up  the  'varsity  back  field 
which  he  had  found  lamentably  weak.  He  had 
no  time  for  society  and  marriage.  He  had 
lived  so  long  his  Bohemian  life  that  he  would 
never  change.  He  had  hardened  into  ruts  and 


STRANGE  GODS  105 

nothing  but  an  explosion  could  ever  change 
him. 

So  it  seemed,  but  to-night  he  was  like  an- 
other Dick  entirely.  Gait  heard  him  rattle  on 
with  increasing  wonder.  He  was  ill  at  ease. 
His  mind  in  spite  of  himself  kept  circling  back 
to  the  episode  which  had  followed  the  prayer- 
meeting.  If  he  could  only  dismiss  the  women 
and  have  Dick  alone,  the  old  Dick,  to  whom  he 
might  pour  out  his  heart.  But  these  women!' 
He  picked  at  the  courses  in  a  preoccupied  way 
and  said  nothing.  His  conscience  was  trou- 
bling him.  What  would  his  church  say  if  they 
could  see  their  pastor  dining  late  at  night  in  a 
public  resort  with  the,  to  them,  notorious 
Helda  Thost,  the  setter  forth  of  strange  gods  ? 
The  voice  of  Dick  brought  him  up  with  a 
start. 

"What  do  you  care,  Johnny,  what  they 
think?" 

"Why — who — "  he  stopped  short.  Dick, 
with  the  intuition  of  the  cross-examiner,  had 
read  his  thoughts. 

"Miss  Thost,"  he  leaned  over  to  her  half-con- 

fidentially,  "do  you  know  Johnny  here — Mr. 

'"Gait — had  an  idea  before  he  saw  you  that  you 

were     some     kind     of     fire-worshipper.     He 

thought  you  would  have  idols  in  your  reticule 


io6          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  a  praying-machine  and  that  you  would  bow 
down  to  wood  and  stone  right  before  us.  You 
know  his  church  paper — the  only  really  mod- 
ern thing  Johnny  ever  reads — and  those  maiden 
ladies  of  his,  class  you  in  the  same  category 
with  a  certain  peculiar-footed  gentleman  well 
known  for  his  lack  of  philanthropy." 

"Why  should  they  do  that?"  A  shade  of 
pain  flitted  over  her  face.  She  looked  up  at 
Gait  appealingly  like  a  child. 

"You'll  have  to  answer  that,  Johnny.  It's 
up  to  you,  now."  There  was  a  twinkle  in  his 
eyes.  He  looked  at  his  sister  and  chuckled, 
but  Gait  did  not  see  him. 

"Why,  nothing — only — "  he  stammered  and 
stopped.  He  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  He 
looked  up  to  find  the  clear  eyes  of  the  woman 
full  upon  him.  "You  know  you  are  hardly 
with  the  church,"  he  blurted  out,  lamely. 

"One  must  belong  then  to  the  church  ?" 

Somehow  the  reproach  in  her  voice  and  the 
look  in  her  eyes  confused  him.  This  was  not 
at  all  the  kind  of  woman  he  had  expected. 

"But  you  are  opposed  to  Christianity,"  he 
burst  out.  "You  lecture  against  us.  You  lead 
people  to  doubt  the  truth,  and  to  stray  they 
know  not  whither." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  me  lecture?"     She 


STRANGE  GODS  107 

leaned  over  almost  appealingly,  her  voice  very 
soft  and  low. 

"No,"  he  said,  decisively. 

"But  you  have  read  some  of  the  things  I 
have  said?" 

"No;  but  I  know  how  you  stand.  You  set 
forth  strange  doctrines.  You — "  Somehow 
he  stopped. 

"Yet  you  have  never  investigated  them." 
She  lowered  her  chin  reprovingly  and  looked 
at  him  with  round,  unflinching  eyes.  There 
was  in  her  voice  a  hurt  tone  that  made  him  feel 
instantly  like  apologizing,  but  he  was  defend- 
ing all  that  was  sacred  in  his  life,  and  he  hard- 
ened his  heart. 

"But  you  reject  the  church  of  Jesus  Christ," 
he  cried.  "What  more  need  I  say  than  that?" 
He  spoke  very  earnestly.  There  was  fire  in 
the  deep  eyes  and  unwonted  color  in  the  cheeks. 
He  had  forgotten  himself. 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Gait,  you  really  don't  mean 
that."  She  spoke  as  to  a  dull  child  patiently 
yet  with  a  little  tone  of  reproof.  "I  believe 
with  all  my  heart  in  the  Christian  church.  I 
believe  in  its  fundamentals  as  firmly  as  even 
do  you."  She  smiled  at  his  look  of  wonder. 

There  was  about  her  not  the  least  suggestion 
of  argument.  It  seemed  almost  boorish  to  op- 


108          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

pose  this  gentle  little  woman  who  was  so  tol- 
erant and  so  sweetly  feminine.  Somehow  in 
spite  of  himself  he  felt  like  agreeing  with  her, 
and  yet  he  kept  on. 

"But  your  strange  beliefs,  your  occultism, 
your  transmigration — ?" 

"Are  merely  accessories,  Mr.  Gait."  She 
smiled  at  him  again  indulgently.  "They  are 
non-essentials, — mere  details." 

He  did  not  answer.  What  was  it  about  this 
frail  little  woman  that  so  moved  upon  him? 
She  was  stronger  than  he, — he  felt  it  intui- 
tively,— and  she  looked  at  life  from  a  serener 
level.  He  toyed  with  his  salad  fork  and  stud- 
ied her  more  intently  than  he  realized. 

"But  even  Christians  have  taught  these  same 
things."  It  was  Miss  Paine's  voice  that 
broke  the  silence.  "Prominent  Christians,  too. 
There  was  Browning.  You'll  remember  that 
he  said — " 

"Ah,  I  knew  it;  I've  been  waiting  for  it." 
Dick  threw  up  his  hand  ecstatically.  "Think 
of  a  debate  like  this  without  Browning!  Do 
you  know,  Johnny,  Freddie  here  was  the  high 
muck-a-muck  of  a  Browning  club  five  years? 
When  you  take  thirty-two  degrees,  you  are 
ready  for  the  next  lodge,  and  to  enter  it  you 
must  recite  Sordello  backwards.  Give  us  a 


STRANGE  GODS  109 

little  of  it,  Freddie.  Commence  gently  and  let 
Johnny  note  the  effect.  You  have  no  idea  how 
it  gains  in  force  and  clearness  when  you  run  it 
with  the  reverse  gear." 

"But  Browning  was  not  voicing  himself;  he 
was — " 

"Here,  Johnny,  careful,"  Dick  broke  in 
abruptly.  "Don't  you  go  to  fooling  around. 
They  are  loaded." 

"But  what  is  your  creed?"  As  if  heeding 
Dick's  warning,  the  pastor  began  on  another 
tack. 

"  'I  sit  as  God,  holding  no  form  of  creed, 
But  contemplating  all. 

Tennyson  voiced  that.  We  reject  nothing 
that  is  good.  We  take  the  best  the  soul  of  man 
has  found  in  all  lands  and  all  times.  We  stand 
for  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man  without 
distinction  of  race  or  creed." 

Again  Gait  was  silent.  Here  truly  was  a 
woman  of  different  mold  from  those  in  his 
prayer-meeting.  Not  only  her  words,  but  her 
manner  and  look  moved  him  strangely.  His 
own  arguments  seemed  somehow  full  of  cant 
and  littleness. 

"In  the  fundamentals,  Mr.  Gait,  all  religions 
are  the  same,"  she  went  on,  in  a  voice  very 


no          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

soft  and  feminine.  "Prejudice  must  not  blind 
us  to  the  truth  wherever  we  may  find  that 
truth.  I  have  studied  Christianity  very  care- 
fully for  years,  and  I  accept  it  and  am  a  Chris- 
tian, just  as  I  am  a  Brahminist,  or  a  Buddhist, 
or  a  Confucian,  or  a  Zoroasterist." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  suggestion  in  her 
tone  of  argument  or  of  lecturing.  It  was  as 
if  she  were  joining  in  ordinary  table  talk  and 
explaining  the  most  matter-of-fact  thing  in  the 
world. 

"But  do  you  accept  the  divinity  of  Christ?" 
Gait  asked  almost  eagerly.  "Do  you  accept 
that?" 

"Most  certainly,  and  the  divinity  of  all  men." 

"There,  Johnny,  you  don't  dare  to  do  that. 
Ah-h,  but  here  is  Charley,  and  he  has  got  the 
climax.  Now  we'll  ascend  to  real  life.  I 
won't  hear  another  word.  Tut! — tut!  Not 
another  word.  Do  you  know  my  definition  of 
sacrilege?  It's  arguing  on  religion  when  you 
have  got  stuff  like  that  just  ready  to  carve. 
Just  look  at  it.  Why,  the  very  smell  of  it  is  a 
religion."  He  cocked  his  head  from  side  to 
side  as  if  enraptured. 

"But,  Miss  Thost— " 

"Time's  up,  Johnny."  He  raised  his  carv- 
ing-fork with  a  warning  gesture.  "You're  out 


STRANGE  GODS  in 

of  order.  'Preaching  may  endure  for  an  hour/ 
as  Browning  says,  'but  joy  cometh  with  the 
benediction/  and  here  we  have  it,  right  here 
now.  What'll  you  have,  Miss  Thost?" 

The  woman  evidently  had  a  sense  of  humor. 
She  looked  up  at  Dick  a  puzzled  instant  and 
laughed  aloud.  But  Frieda  Paine  seemed  to 
be  annoyed. 

"It's  the  same  old  Dick/'  she  said,  glancing 
half-nervously  at  the  pastor.  "But  you  know 
him,  Mr.  Gait." 

"I  have  lived  with  him." 

"Now,  look  here."  He  leaned  back  in  an 
injured  way.  "Why  do  you  have  to  apologize 
for  me  ?  This  isn't  any  congress  of  religions ; 
this  isn't  any  Browning  Club  pink  tea. 
Charley,  you  are  the  only  one  here  who  really 
understands  this  occasion.  Ah,  you're  the  boy. 
See  what  Charley's  brought.  Now  that's  re- 
ligion." 

"That's  just  the  matter  with  you,  Dick." 
There  was  irritation  in  his  sister's  voice,  but 
there  was  none  in  her  eyes.  One  never  knew 
whether  to  take  Frieda  Paine  seriously  or  not. 
"You  can't  see  one  inch  over  your  dinner- 
plate.  You  are  just  a  cold-blooded  materialist. 
Men  and  women  to  you  are  just  phenomena; 
just  reactions  in  a  test-tube." 


H2          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"The  ground  floor  comes  first,  Freddy." 

"But  you  don't  have  to  stay  there  all  your 
life." 

"Hold  on  there,  sister  Freddie ;  wait  one  little 
bit.  How  about  the  three  square  meals  a  day  ? 
Don't  forget  them.  Remember  the  cold  in  the 
head  and  the  chapped  hands  and  the  rheuma- 
tism. Don't  forget  the  butcher's  meat  and  the 
grocery  bill  and  the  laundry  bag  and  the  ever- 
lasting pocketbook.  Keep  your  feet  right  on 
the  ground,  Freddy,  dear.  There's  where  you 
live.  I  tell  you  what  you  people  need  is  prac- 
tical instruction,  and  it's  up  to  me.  You  can't 
run  even  a  religion  on  theory.  What  you  need 
is  life  as  it  is  actually  lived  on  this  planet,  and 
by  George,  you  are  going  to  get  it.  I've  made 
up  my  mind.  To-morrow  morning  you  are 
going  with  me  down  to  the  police  court  and  the 
jail, — the  whole  of  you.  Then  I'm  going  to 
show  you  some  select  scenes  among  the  tene- 
ments. We'll  start  at  ten." 

"No,  Dick—" 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  Johnny.  This 
thing  is  going.  I  know  my  duty  when  it  looms 
right  up  before  me  like  a  hearse-house.  It  is 
up  to  me  for  missionary  work  if  ever  it  was  up 
to  a  man." 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  they  left  the 


STRANGE  GODS  113 

restaurant.  Gait  had  really  enjoyed  his  even- 
ing. The  woman  had  been  the  direct  opposite 
of  all  that  he  had  pictured.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  never  before  met  a  soul  so  sensitive, 
so  electric,  so  perfectly  poised.  It  was  exhila- 
rating to  talk  with  her;  it  thrilled  him  some- 
how to  his  very  best  Her  words  opened  into 
the  vast  places  and  the  deeps  of  life.  Again 
and  again  he  found  himself  comparing  her 
with  the  shallow  little  women  of  his  prayer- 
meeting.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
known  anyone  so  perfectly  tolerant,  so  charita- 
ble, and  so  broad  of  horizon.  What  would  his 
work  not  be  if  all  his  women  were  like  her! 
How  it  would  call  forth  and  stimulate  the  very 
best  that  was  in  his  life ! 

They  found  the  automobile  at  the  door,  and 
before  the  pastor  realized  it  he  was  sitting  be- 
side her  in  the  tonneau  and  Dick  was  closing 
the  door. 

"Freddie  will  ride  up  in  front  with  me,"  he 
was  saying;  "I  want  to  teach  her  to  drive," 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  off. 

Automatically  Gait  pulled  up  the  robes  and 
arranged  them.  What  a  tiny  little  thing  she 
was  as  she  sank  back  there  in  the  seat  amid 
her  furs.  Until  she  spoke  one  saw  only  her 
frailness  and  her  almost  child-like  figure,  but 


H4         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  impression  vanished  always  the  moment 
she  began  to  talk.  Her  voice  now  sent  through 
him  a  sudden  thrill. 

"So  you  find  your  work  discouraging  at 
times  ?"  she  said,  as  if  resuming  a  broken  con- 
versation. 

"Why, — yes,"  he  stammered.  "I  suppose 
everyone  does."  The  question  made  him  start 
almost  guiltily.  It  was  as  if  she  had  read  his 
thoughts. 

"The  outlook  is  discouraging;  I  find  it  very 
discouraging,"  she  went  on  in  a  musing  way. 
"It  is  really  hard  to  keep  oneself  from  pessi- 


mism." 


"Why  so?"  he  asked  evasively.  He  did  not 
quite  understand  her.  He  was  on  his  guard 
yet,  and  he  must  be  ready.  This  undoubtedly 
was  the  prelude  to  an  attack  upon  the 
church. 

"There  is  so  little  of  spirituality, — every- 
where," she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  trou- 
bled eyes.  "Don't  you  find  it  so?  There  is  no 
vision.  It  is  all  rush  and  materialism.  Men 
are  living  as  if  they  knew  there  was  nothing 
beyond  the  things  of  mere  sense.  Even  the 
church  is  becoming  worldly  and  vain."  There 
was  no  doubting  the  sincerity  of  the  woman. 
There  was  a  little  quiver  in  her  voice,  and  her 


STRANGE  GODS  115 

eyes,  very  round  and  honest  like  a  child's, 
looked  into  his  appealingly. 

"Why,  I  hardly  expected  you  would  say  that, 
Miss  Thost."  The  words  were  out  before  he 
realized  it. 

"And  why  not,  Mr.  Gait?"  The  look  in  her 
eyes  changed  to  wonder. 

"Why,  I  don't  know — ,"  he  began,  curiously 
embarrassed,  he  knew  not  why.  One  of  his 
strong  points  as  a  pastor  had  been  his  perfect 
ease  in  society.  Always  he  had  been  a  model 
of  grace  and  dignity  and  swiftness  of  repartee. 
Not  one  of  his  congregation  had  ever  seen  him 
flurried,  but  all  the  evening  somehow  he  had 
felt  like  an  awkward  boy.  "To  be  honest, 
Miss  Thost,"  he  began,  with  suddenness,  "I 
had  always  supposed  that  you  taught  some  kind 
of  fantastic  religious  system,  a  mere  germ  of 
truth  expanded  into  a  religion, — something 
like  Christian  Science — " 

"There  is  very  much  indeed  to  admire  in 
Christian  Science,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him  in 
a  chiding  way. 

"Yes, — yes,  but  your  cycles  of  incarnation, 
your  soul  and  its  sheaths,  your  planes  of  incar- 
nation." 

"And  you  know  only  that  ?  What  have  you 
read  of  our  books  ?" 


Ii6         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I  have  not  read  any." 

"And  you  never  have  heard  any  of  our  lec- 
tures ?" 

"No." 

"And  yet  you  condemn  us  ?" 

"But  it  is  not  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  and 
that  is  all  I  care  to  know." 

"Frankly,  is  that  not  narrowness,  Mr.  Gait? 
Is  it  not  prejudice  as  real  as  that  which  filled 
the  Pharisees  of  Jesus'  day  ? — Oh,  you  all  do  it. 
You  do  not  care  to  seek  for  the  Truth, — the 
whole  Truth.  And  yet  your  Master  said,  'Ye 
shall  know  the  Truth  and  the  Truth  shall  make 
you  free/  You  condemn  us  all  unheard.  You 
condemn  Christian  Science;  you  condemn 
things  that  you  have  not  the  slightest  knowl- 
edge of.  You  are  intolerant.  Oh,  seek  the 
Truth  in  everything,  Mr.  Gait,  for  there  is 
truth  in  everything.  Be  open-souled  and 
broad-viewed.  My  religion  is  but  another 
name  for  toleration  and  a  search  for  the  Truth, 
and  'the  Truth  shall  make  you  free/  I  build 
on  the  Christ  principles  as  much  as  even  you, 
and  I  build  on  everything  else  that  is  Truth. 
I  seek  only  spirituality  and  purity  and  love  and 
holiness."  There  was  a  thrill  in  her  tone  that 
went  through  him  strangely.  She  spoke  plead- 
ingly, a  light  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  seen  only 


STRANGE  GODS  117 

in  the  faces  of  a  few  rare  souls  at  the  altar  at 
communion  time. 

"Then  why  is  not  the  church  enough?"  he 
asked,  lamely.  "Why  can  not  you  find  in  the 
Christian  church  all  that  you  seek?" 

"The  church, — ah,  that  implies  there  is  but 
one,  Mr.  Gait."  Her  eyes  seemed  to  be  search- 
ing him  through.  "That  is  narrowness.  I 
would  not  be  bound  to  the  traditions  and  dog- 
mas and  conventionalities  of  one  small  circle 
of  men;  I  would  seek  Truth  universal.  I 
would  be  free  even  as  God  and  the  souls  of 
men  are  free.  I  want  all  Truth;  I  want  the 
best  of  all  the  best."  There  was  no  question- 
ing her  honesty.  She  was  speaking  not  for 
effect,  and  not  to  win  him  to  her  cult,  but  from 
her  soul.  It  was  a  communion  of  kindred 
spirits,  a  longing  for  comprehension  by  one 
who  seldom  found  one  who  could  comprehend. 
He  felt  it  and  was  silent. 

"Do  you  not  sometimes  long  for  more  free- 
dom, Mr.  Gait?"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause. 
"Don't  you  sometimes  find  the  conventions  and 
the  machinery  of  your  church  cramping  and 
.dwarfing  you?  Don't  you  sometimes  long  to 
be  free  as  Christ  was  free?  The  machinery 
of  your  church  and  the  mass  of  your  creeds 
have  all  come  since  His  day."  She  was  leaning 


n8          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

over  in  her  earnestness  and  looking  into  his 
face  almost  with  eagerness. 

The  pastor  was  strangely  stirred,  he  hardly 
realized  why.  There  was  something  about 
her  presence,  her  intensity  of  feeling,  her  voice, 
her  rapt  spiritual  face  that  seemed  to  play  upon 
all  that  was  deepest  within  him.  She  seemed 
to  be  voicing  his  own  thoughts ;  she  seemed  to 
be  speaking  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her 
life  and  had  known  his  experiences  and  the 
working  of  his  soul.  It  was  on  his  tongue's 
end  to  tell  her  of  the  episode  of  the  early  even- 
ing, to  tell  her  everything  of  his  doubts  and 
struggles  of  late  and  to  ask  her  advice.  He 
felt  that  she  of  all  persons  he  had  ever  known 
would  comprehend  and  sympathize.  There 
was  more:  he  felt  the  power  of  a  strong- 
winged  soul,  one  who  has  wrestled  long  and 
has  triumphed,  one  who  has  had  large  experi- 
ence of  life,  that  has  thought  deeply,  and  has 
risen  to  the  height  that  only  pure  spirit  knows. 
The  mood  of  confession  was  upon  him  com- 
pellingly,  but  before  he  had  spoken  a  word  the 
car  drew  up  to  the  hotel  door.  There  was  no 
chance  to  say  more  if  he  would. 

"Remember,  Johnny/'  Dick  shouted,  a  mo- 
ment later.  "To-morrow  at  ten." 

"I  can't  go,  Dick,  really.     My  work—" 


STRANGE  GODS  119 

"Chuck  the  work,  Johnny.  I  shall  be  here 
at  ten,  sharp." 

"But,  Dick—" 

"Ten,  sharp,  Johnny.  Good  night,  old 
man." 

Gait  went  to  his  room  and  flung  himself 
into  his  armchair  wearily.  Miss  Thost — Mr. 
Bradley — Isobel  Carniston — his  brain  was  in 
a  whirl.  Truly  within  the  past  week  life  had 
been  heaping  itself  upon  him. 

"Helda  Thost," — he  spoke  the  words  aloud. 
How  utterly  his  picture  of  her  had  been  re- 
versed. He  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He 
found  his  mind  again  and  again  going  auto- 
matically over  her  words.  Her  personality 
seemed  still  to  envelop  him  and  to  dominate 
him.  He  tried  to  divest  himself  of  her  and  to 
straighten  it  all  out.  Were  her  words  not, 
after  all,  a  devilish  sophistry  which  the  com- 
pelling power  of  her  presence  had  made  to 
seem  like  the  message  from  another  world? 
He  tried  to  analyze  it  in  cold  blood,  but  do  what 
he  might  he  could  find  no  false  note.  It  had 
been  one  sensitive  soul  telling  of  its  discourage- 
ments and  its  ideals  to  a  kindred  spirit.  And 
this  was  Helda  Thost,  the  worshipper  at 
strange  shrines, — this  dainty  little  woman, 
with  the  appealing  eyes  so  childlike  in  their 


120          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

honesty,  with  the  sad  smile  and  the  soul  so 
tremulously  sensitive  that  at  times  she  seemed 
half  ethereal.  He  leaned  back  and  shut  his 
eyes  as  if  to  screen  out  the  image  that  had  so 
possessed  him.  In  vain;  everywhere  was 
Helda  Thost  and  the  low  tones  of  her  voice, 
"Oh,  don't  you  long  to  be  free,  free,  free,  as 
Christ  was  free?" 

He  arose  and  paced  the  room.  "Come  out 
from  among  them  and  be  ye  separate,  saith 
the  Lord,"  Mr.  Bradley  had  quoted.  But  how 
could  he  do  this  in  the  light  of  Christ's  ex- 
ample? Was  not  the  coming  out  from  the 
world  and  the  separation  into  pure  and  impure, 
holy  and  unholy,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
the  root  of  the  whole  trouble  with  the  church? 
Had  it  not  set  a  dead-line  between  the  world 
and  the  church  that  was  well-nigh  impossible 
to  cross?  Did  it  not  forbid  the  pastor  of  a 
church  to  associate  in  any  way  with  Isobel 
Carniston  and  even  with  Helda  Thost?  Was 
not  the  church,  as  she  had  said,  unutterably 
narrow  and  prejudiced?  Would  he  not  rejoice 
to  have  a  membership  in  his  church  made  up  of 
souls  just  like  her,  and  yet  Mr.  Bradley,  and 
indeed  all  the  other  members  of  his  church, 
would  regard  her  as  a  very  embodiment  of 
evil. 


STRANGE  GODS  121 

Midnight  found  the  pastor  crouched  in  his 
armchair,  his  chin  in  his  palms.  His  Bible,  his 
usual  refuge  in  perplexity,  lay  all  untouched  by 
his  right  hand;  for  once  in  his  life  he  had  not 
thought  of  it. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door;  it  went 
through  him  as  if  it  had  been  upon  his  heart. 
He  sprang  up  in  confusion.  Such  a  thing  had 
never  happened  to  him  before  at  midnight. 

"Come  in,"  he  said  unsteadily.  A  bell-boy 
entered. 

"Message,  suh ;  just  left  here,"  he  announced. 

" Any  answer  required  ?" 

"No,  suh." 

It  was  not  a  telegram ;  it  was  a  note  sent  by 
messenger.  He  tore  open  the  envelop  with 
excited  fingers.  Who  could  want  him  at  this 
time  of  night? 

"Come  to  43  Water  St.  instantly.  Very  im- 
portant. Haste.  Dillon." 

Dillon?  Dillon? — prescription  blank — ah, 
"J.  H.  Dillon,  M.D."— 43  Water  Street,  why 
that  was  Mother  Brown's.  The  doctor  was 
there.  Haste  was  evident  in  every  line  of  the 
note.  It  was  Isobel  Carniston — suicide! — the 
deduction  came  with  a  thump  of  the  heart. 


122          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Without  waiting  to  put  on  his  overcoat,  he 
seized  his  hat  and  plunged  into  the  street.  By 
good  luck  he  caught  the  12:15  car  and  in  five 
minutes  he  was  at  the  door.  Before  he  could 
knock,  a  brusque  young  man  of  thirty  with  full 
beard  and  spectacles  fronted  him. 

"Mr.  Gait?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.     What  is  it?     Suicide?" 

"Suicide  nothing !  It's  the  Carniston  woman ; 
she's  in  bad  shape.  You  oughtn't  to  go  in  or 
anybody  else  but  the  nurse,  but  she's  head- 
strong's  the  devil.  She  hasn't  much  chance 
and  she  won't  have  any  unless  she  can  be 
quieted  down.  She  raves  and  begs  for  you, 
and  we  can't  stop  her.  She  thinks  she  is  going 
to  die  and  she's  got  it  into  her  head  that  you 
can  save  her.  Now  you  quiet  her  down  as 
quick  as  God'll  let  you;  if  you  don't  she's  out 
of  it." 

"And  it  isn't  suicide?"  The  pastor  spoke 
the  word  in  a  whisper. 

"No,  no.  She's  been  keyed  too  high  for  a 
day  or  two, — that's  what's  brought  it  on.  She 
tore  round,  they  say,  like  a  she-devil  Sunday, 
and — well,  you  know  what  the  trouble  was. 
Now,  don't  you  preach  or  stir  her  up.  Just 
quiet  her  right  down  just  as  quick  as  you  know 


STRANGE  GODS  123 

how.  Tell  her  she  isn't  going  to  die  any  more 
than  you  are." 

He  turned  to  find  Mother  Brown  at  his 
elbow. 

"In  this  way,"  she  said  softly.  "She  is 
dreadfully  excited.  She  just  lies  and  wrings 
her  hands  and  orders  us  to  send  for  you.  She 
will  have  you.  We  can't  quiet  her.  She  thinks 
she  is  going  to  die,  and  really,  unless  she  stops, 
she  will.  You  just  soothe  her  down." 

He  followed  her  on  tiptoe  into  a  dim  little 
room  and  was  conscious  with  a  sudden  intake 
of  the  breath  of  a  mass  of  wondrous  gold  on 
a  pillow, — her  hair  loose  and  tumbled.  She 
seemed  to  be  watching  the  door,  and  with  her 
first  glimpse  of  him  she  arose  in  tremulous 
eagerness  to  her  elbow. 

"Mr.  Gait,  Mr.  Gait,  is  it  you?"  she  cried. 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't — you  mustn't  exert 
yourself,"  the  nurse  said,  trying  gently  to 
force  her  down  again.  "You  must  lie  perfectly 
still." 

"She's  right,  Miss  Carniston,"  the  pastor 
knelt  at  the  bedside.  "You  must  obey  the 
nurse;  you  must  lie  right  back." 

"They  are  lying  to  me — I  know  it — I  heard 
the  doctor.  I  am  going  to  die — and  I  can't, 


124          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

— and  I  won't, — I  won't  die.  Why  don't  you 
do  something  ?  Pray !  You  must  pray,  quick. 
Pray!  And  you  let  me  die  here  like  a  dog. 
Oh,  I  can't  die,  I  can't,  I  can't,  I  can't."  She 
was  on  her  elbow  again,  crying  and  sobbing, 
her  eyes  wild  with  animal  terror. 

"But  there's  no  danger.  The  doctor  told  me 
so  not  a  moment  ago.  There,  there,  lie  back 
— you  mustn't." 

"They  lie;  I  know  what  he  said — oh,  my 
God,  I  want  to  live.  Pray!  God,  why  don't 
you  pray?"  She  spoke  almost  with  fierce- 
ness. 

Instantly  he  bowed  his  head  upon  the  cot 
and  prayed  with  his  whole  heart.  He  was 
gifted  in  prayer;  he  had  often  prayed  at  the 
bedside  of  the  dying.  She  was  silent,  instantly. 

"Now  it  will  be  all  right,"  he  said  softly,  as 
he  closed  his  prayer  and  looked  into  her  burn- 
ing face.  "You  have  nothing  to  fear  now.  I 
have  made  it  all  right.  Now,  you  go  to  sleep." 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  gasped.  "Are  you 
sure  ?  Oh,  you  must  tell  me — tell  me,  I  demand 
it."  She  thrust  out  her  hand  waveringly  and 
caught  his  with  the  grip  of  a  spent  swimmer. 
Then  she  clung  with  both  hands  and  looked  up 
at  him  as  if  he  personally  had  power  to  save 
her.  He  did  not  loosen  her  hand;  he  sat  on 


STRANGE  GODS  125 

the  bedside  and  began  to  talk  to  her  as  if  she 
were  a  frightened  child. 

"Can't  you  believe  me?"  he  said  softly,  look- 
ing into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  think  I  would  lie 
to  you?  If  you  were  going  to  die  I  would  be 
the  first  to  tell  you,  for  you  ought  to  know. 
Now,  I  tell  you  that  you  will  be  all  right  to- 
morrow if  you  are  only  good  and  keep  quiet 
and  rest.  There,  now,  don't  say  another 
word." 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  burst  out,  trying  to 
struggle  again  to  her  elbow  in  her  eagerness  to 
know  the  truth.  "Are  you  sure?" 

"Why  should  I  deceive  you?  I  tell  you  hon- 
estly that  you  will  be  all  right  if  you  only  do 
just  as  I  tell  you.  Now,  you  must  do  just  as 
I  tell  you.  Hear  me,  just  as  I  tell  you.  I  am 
going  to  pull  you  through.  Now  you  must  do 
just  as  I  say.  Now,  to  sleep,  to  sleep,  to 
sleep — "  He  spoke  more  and  more  softly,  his 
whole  will-power  bent  on  subduing  her  and 
sending  her  into  sleep.  The  terror  faded  from 
her  eyes,  she  fell  back  and  at  length  closed  her 
eyes.  She  still  clung  to  his  hand,  however,  as 
if  it  alone  kept  her  in  life. 

"Now,  just  rest,  rest,  rest,"  he  went  on, 
monotonously.  "You  must  go  to  sleep,  go  to 
sleep,  go  to  sleep." 


126          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

By  and  by  he  tried  to  take  away  his  hand, 
but  she  clung  convulsively  and  started  up  in 
fresh  terror. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  go,  you  mustn't,"  she  cried 
out.  "Oh,  I  can't  die.  Oh,  I  can't  die,  now." 

Again  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  and  talked 
her  into  sleep,  and  after  what  seemed  to  him 
hours,  he  unclasped  her  hands  and  tiptoed 
from  the  room. 

The  rest  of  the  night  he  slept  on  the  sofa  in 
Mother  Brown's  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOULS   INSURGENT 

THERE  is  little  of  actual  misery  in  an 
American  manufacturing  city  when  the 
times  are  good  and  the  mills  are  in  full  opera- 
tion. Frieda  Paine  had  laughed  at  Dick's  pro- 
posed expedition.  Wickedness  enough  there 
doubtless  was,  but  they  would  see  very  little  of 
it  in  a  daytime  trip. 

"We'll  see  a  few  Italian  shanties  and  a 
drunken  man  or  two,"  she  said,  lightly.  "That 
will  be  all  the  slums  a  little  city  like  this  can 
boast  of.  Even  in  New  York  you  never  see 
very  much  actual  misery.  They  show  you 
some  dark  alleys  and  some  air-shafts  and  a 
thousand  clothes-lines,  then  they  show  you  the 
new  tenements  and  the  playgrounds  and  tell 
how  much  they  cost  and  what  the  rent  is. 
Then  you  have  seen  the  slums."  Frieda  Paine 
had  taken  a  course  in  slumming  and  she  knew 
what  she  was  talking  about.  "If  it  wasn't  for 
offending  Dick,  I  wouldn't  go  a  step.  He'll 

drag  us  around  the  dumps  and  the  cheap  sa- 

127 


128          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

loons,  and  when  we  hold  our  noses  he'll  say 
it  is  real  life  and  just  what  we  need." 

But  Dick  had  his  own  ideas  as  to  slumming. 
He  knew  his  ground  thoroughly,  and  he  had, 
moreover,  the  lawyer's  instinct  for  climax. 
He  knew  what  his  sister  never  suspected,  that 
it  had  been  a  hard  winter  in  the  little  city. 
There  had  been  a  disastrous  strike.  Thou- 
sands of  men  had  had  no  employment  since 
October,  and  as  a  result  there  had  been  fearful 
suffering  among  the  lower  elements  of  the  for- 
eign population.  Soup  kitchens  and  a  bread- 
line had  alleviated  it  to  some  extent,  but  even 
with  these  there  were  families  on  the  verge  of 
starvation.  Crime  had  increased  greatly;  the 
police  court  every  morning  was  full  of  a  pitiful 
throng,  and  often  among  them  were  mere  lads 
and  tiny  children. 

The  court  that  morning  seemed  as  if  espe- 
cially arranged  for  Dick.  As  it  happened 
there  had  been  no  day  for  weeks  when  so  much 
wretchedness  and  squalor  and  sordid  crime  had 
been  compressed  into  a  single  session.  It  was 
as  if  it  had  been  previously  planned  as  a  sort 
of  clinic  to  enable  him  to  lecture  upon  the  mis- 
ery and  the  wickedness  of  human  life.  His 
wide  experience  in  the  criminal  courts  enabled 
him  to  enter  into  each  case  with  minuteness 


SOULS  INSURGENT  129 

and  to  picture  with  confidence  the  past  and  the 
probable  future  of  each  of  the  victims.  The 
party  was  in  the  hands  of  an  expert.  The 
human  wreckage  before  them  rendered  ex- 
ceedingly graphic  the  recitals  of  misery  and 
degradation  and  appetite,  of  suffering  little 
children,  of  women  lost  to  shame,  of  men  with 
the  stamp  of  God  forever  blotted  from  their 
faces.  There  was  a  flippancy,  a  cold-blooded 
and  matter-of-course  tone  about  the  young  law- 
yer that  made  it  all  doubly  horrible.  It  was, 
indeed,  as  his  sister  had  said,  as  if  he  was  talk- 
ing about  chemicals  and  reactions  in  a  test- 
tube. 

Gait  stole  a  glance  at  Miss  Thost.  Her  eyes 
were  welling  with  tears,  and  there  was  in  her 
face  something  he  had  never  seen  before.  It 
brought  a  lump  into  his  throat.  He  knew  pre- 
cisely how  she  felt  and  it  stimulated  him 
strangely.  His  heart  beat  more  rapidly;  his 
breath  came  in  short  gasps.  It  was  as  it  was 
at  Northfield  on  that  day  of  days.  Oh,  to  help 
these  men  and  these  pitiful  little  children. 
Here  was  the  field.  It  was  white  for  the  har- 
vest, but  there  was  none  to  labor.  Stronger 
and  stronger  it  surged  within  him  to  get  to 
work  with  his  whole  life  and  soul  in  this  harvest 
that  was  crying  to  heaven  for  laborers.  And 


130          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  impulse  became  more  and  more  compelling 
when  later  they  inspected  the  workhouse  and 
when,  under  Dick's  skillful  guidance,  they  went 
through  the  wretched  tenements. 

"Here  am  I !"  his  soul  cried  out  within  him. 
"Send  me.  Here  indeed  is  the  field, — 'the  field 
is  the  world.' '  Here  was  work  for  a  thou- 
sand. Why  give  his  whole  time  to  those  who 
were  already  in  the  church  and  neglect  the 
great,  suffering  areas  like  these?  The  seeds 
of  revolt  were  germinating  within  him.  This 
had  been  the  whole  work  of  Jesus  Christ :  why 
not  that  of  all  His  followers  ? 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Gait,  that  Christ  would 
take  the  pastorate  of  a  large  church  if  He 
should  come  again,  or  would  He  rather  work 
here  in  the  tenements  ?" 

"No.  He  would  go  into  no  church,"  he  an- 
swered, decisively,  as  if  the  argument  within 
him  had  not  been  with  his  own  soul  but  with 
her.  "He  would  work  only  here."  Then  it 
occurred  to  him  with  a  strange  sort  of  thrill 
that  she  had  not  spoken  before  for  it  seemed  to 
him  an  hour.  She  had  read  his  thoughts. 

"Yes,  I  think  He  would,"  she  said,  musingly. 

"You  know,  Miss  Thost,"  he  began  eagerly 
to  explain,  as  if  she  had  caught  him  somehow 
off  his  guard,  and  he  had  said  what  he  should 


SOULS  INSURGENT  131 

not.  "You  know  it's  the  work  of  all  others  I 
have  always  wanted  to  do." 

"Then  why  do  you  not  do  it?"  Something 
in  her  tone  made  him  feel  uncomfortable. 

"Why,  I — I  shall  sometime.  It  appeals  to 
me  above  everything  else.  I  should  like  to 
enter  every  one  of  these  doors  and  become  in- 
timately acquainted  with  every  soul  who  lives 
here.  I  should  like  to  be  their  best  friend  and 
to  lift  them  up  and  teach  them  to  live.  I  think 
I  could  help  them." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "you  could  help 
them." 

He  glanced  up  at  her,  quickly.  The  woman 
puzzled  him.  What  was  she  really  thinking? 
What  was  going  on  behind  those  inscrutable 
eyes  with  their  yearning  look,  those  eyes  that 
looked  quite  through  him  and  beyond  him? 
She  had  summed  him  up,  he  knew,  and  had 
classified  him.  What  was  the  verdict  ?  Some- 
how he  felt  small  and  uneasy.  He  had  con- 
fessed that  he  had  not  taken  the  road  that  his 
heart  and  his  soul  had  commanded,  but  had 
turned  into  the  easier  way,  the  way  that  his 
Master  would  have  shunned.  He  was  not  a 
strong  man ;  he  was  a  time-server ;  and  she  had 
found  it  out  and  she  despised  him. 

"But  you, — "  he  said,  suddenly,  as  if  in  self- 


132          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

defense — "does  this  field  not  appeal  to  you? 
Why  do  you  lecture  on  esoteric  abstractions  to 
little  groups  of  cultured  and  wealthy  ones  when 
there  is  so  much  to  do  here?"  He  was  sorry 
for  the  boorish  words  before  they  were  out  of 
his  mouth.  A  swift  look  of  pain  swept  over 
her  face.  She  looked  up  at  him  like  a  hurt 
child. 

"You  have  never  heard  me  lecture,  Mr. 
Gait,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "And  you  do 
not  know  how  often  I  come  into  places  like 
this.  I  have  not  the  strength  to  do  all  that  I 
would." 

"Oh,  pardon  me,  Miss  Thost,"  he  cried.  "I 
didn't  realize  what  I  said.  Of  course  you  can't 
do  such  work, — but  I  can.  I  have  got  strength 
enough.  There  is  no  excuse  for  my  not  plung- 
ing in  with  my  whole  life.  I  'was  just  trying 
to  excuse  myself,  that  was  all." 

"But  your  church,  Mr.  Gait,  is  almost 
heathendom,  is  it  not  ?"  she  said,  changing  her 
ground  with  woman-like  swiftness.  "How 
much  of  real  Christianity  has  it?  Doesn't  it 
need  all  the  spirituality  you  can  possibly  give 
it?" 

"Yes,  but  these  people  here  need  everything. 
Christ  did  not  work  with  the  Pharisees,  but 


SOULS  INSURGENT  133 

with  the  lepers.     Look  at  that  baby  there,  for 
instance/' 

A  small  boy  had  come  tumbling  out  of  a 
front  door,  leaving  it  half  open,  and  a  baby, 
naked  save  for  a  little  calico  dress,  had  rolled 
itself  out  upon  the  frosty  step. 

"Why,  the  poor  little  thing,"  she  cried.  "Its 
feet  are  bare  and  right  in  that  snow." 

"I  am  going  to  carry  him  in,"  he  announced, 
suddenly. 

"I  will  go  with  you." 

"Ah,  baby,  up,  up!"  Gait  went  to  the  child 
and  held  out  his  hands,  awkwardly.  "Want 
to  go  to  find  mamma?"  The  baby  put  its 
thumb  into  its  mouth  and  stared,  stolidly.  It 
was  pale  and  frail  like  a  thing  that  has  grown 
in  the  shade;  its  dress  was  wet;  and  its  little 
face  and  hands  were  sticky  with  dirt. 

"Here  we  go !"  cried  the  pastor,  and  gather- 
ing it  up,  a  screaming  little  atom,  dirt  and  all, 
he  pushed  on  into  the  passageway  and  through 
an  open  door  to  the  left. 

His  first  impression  was  of  a  room  with  stove 
and  bed  and  table,  in  unspeakable  disorder. 
There  was  no  fire.  A  haggard  woman  in  the 
bed  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture  and  looked 
at  them  in  startled  confusion.  An  infant  only 


134          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

a  few  days  old  lay  in  the  bed  beside  her,  and 
crouched  by  the  footboard  sat  a  little  girl  of 
four,  her  hair  in  a  tangled  mat. 

"We've  brought  your  baby  in,"  explained 
the  pastor,  in  a  hearty  tone.  "The  rascal  was 
running  away." 

The  woman  answered  him  confusedly  in  a 
foreign  tongue. 

"Can't  you  speak  English?"  he  asked. 

"Nor."     She  shook  her  head,  helplessly. 

"It's  Canadian  French,"  Miss  Thost  whis- 
pered. "Let  me  speak  with  her." 

Gait  understood  nothing  of  the  rapid  dia- 
logue that  followed,  but  he  saw  a  new  look 
come  into  the  woman's  face.  She  held  up  the 
baby  for  them  to  see,  then  she  lay  down  while 
Miss  Thost  straightened  out  the  bed. 

"The  man  is  a  spinner  and  has  had  no  work 
for  five  months,"  she  announced  in  English 
over  her  shoulder.  "He  is  drunken,  and  he 
abuses  her  and  the  children.'  ; 

She  made  the  bed  with  the  skill  of  a  nurse, 
smoothing  out  the  rags  and  garments  which 
had  been  mussed  into  the  centre  and  gathering 
together  the  rude  playthings  which  had  been 
used  all  day  by  the  children.  It  was  a  poor 
apology  for  a  bed,  but  she  brought  it  into  some- 
thing like  order.  As  she  tucked  in  the  foot  the 


SOULS  INSURGENT  135 

baby,  which  Gait  had  deposited  there,  held  up 
its  pitiful  little  hands. 

"You  poor  little  thing,"  she  cried,  gathering 
it  into  her  arms.  "You  are  as  cold  as  ice.  I 
wonder  if  there  isn't  a  shawl  about  here  or 
something."  Gait  sprang  to  look.  There  was 
no  shawl,  but  there  were  garments  that  could 
be  pinned  about  the  little  thing,  and  there  was 
a  pair  of  very  dirty  stockings  in  the  debris 
under  the  bed. 

"I'm  going  to  wash  those  little  hands  and 
that  poor  little  face/'  she  burst  out.  "I  just 
can't  stand  it.  And,  Mr.  Gait,  the  woman  says 
there  is  a  grocery  store  two  blocks  down. 
Won't  you  please  run  down  quick  and  tell  them 
to  send  some  wood  and  coal  right  up,  and  two 
or  three  loaves  of  bread  and  two  quarts  of  milk  ? 
Tell  them  to  have  it  here  at  once." 

On  the  sidewalk  Gait  found  Dick  and  his 
sister,  their  faces  full  of  anxiety. 

"Here,  Johnny,  wait  a  minute.  Where  in 
thunder  are  you  going  ?  Where's  Miss  Thost  ? 
Anything  wrong  ?  What  is  it  ?  We've  hunted 
two  hours, — supposed  you  were  right  behind 
us,  and  when  we  looked  back  you  had  disap- 
peared." 

"She's  in  there, — Number  18.  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 


136          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"What  is  it,  Johnny  ?  She  isn't  hurt,  is  she  ? 
She  didn't — "  but  the  pastor  was  out  of  hail 
down  the  street. 

An  hour  later  when  they  started  back  to  the 
automobile  Dick  had  recovered  his  equilibrium 
and  was  in  full  voice. 

"You  can't  do  anything  with  a  Canuck, 
Johnny,"  he  ran  on.  "You  might  as  well  try 
to  help  a  litter  of  coyotes.  They  are  worthless ; 
they  are  utterly  undependable.  They  will  lie 
the  minute  they  are  born  and  steal  before  they 
can  walk,  and  if  they  can't  get  anything  else  to 
drink  they  will  drink  kerosene  oil.  Now  that 
Canuck  will  go  home  and  hock  that  coal  before 
dark.  Then  with  the  money  he'll  tank  up  on 
sulphuric  acid  and  wood  alcohol  and  kick  the 
woman  and  kids  two  blocks  down  the  street. 
That's  the  Canuck  of  it." 

"What  would  you  do;  let  them  freeze  to 
death?" 

"Oh,  you  can't  freeze  Canucks,  Johnny ;  don't 
you  worry  about  that.  What  you  see  there  is 
just  the  normal  life  of  an  average  Canuck. 
When  you  set  'em  up  in  coal  and  milk  and  such 
things  you  give  them  an  abnormal  environment 
and  you  ruin  'em.  But  I  am  glad  you  saw  'em, 
all  the  same;  it  will  do  you  good.  Trouble 
with  you  folks  up  on  the  hill  is  that  you  keep 


SOULS  INSURGENT  137 

right  in  your  own  little  half -acre  lot  and  refuse 
to  look  an  inch  beyond  it.  You  don't  want  to 
know.  You  call  such  papers  as  the  Police 
News  yellow  and  all  that,  when  the  truth  is 
that  they  are  actually  reeking  with  human  life 
as  it  is  really  lived  on  this  planet.  You  throw 
fits  at  the  bare  mention  of  a  Sunday  journal, 
and  then  you  go  into  your  churches  and  take 
up  a  kid-glove  collection  for  the  poor  and  thank 
God  you  are  so  good.  Pshaw!  Say,  Johnny, 
take  this  case  now ;  write  it  up  just  as  it  is  pre- 
cisely, with  pictures  of  the  room  and  the  kids 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  and  who  in  your 
church  would  read  it?  They'd  say  the  thing 
was  impossible  and  call  it  yellow  journalism, 
and  hold  up  their  skirts  and  tiptoe  as  you  do 
around  nastiness.  Now,  Johnny,  let  me  talk 
business;  let  me  tell  you  how  to  do  some  real 
church  work:  instead  of  preaching  against 
Sabbath-breaking  and  Sunday  papers  and  the- 
atres and  such  little  things  as  that,  you  take 
your  congregation  down  here  some  Sunday 
morning.  That  would  be  a  sermon." 

Gait  did  not  answer.  He  was  thinking 
much  the  same  thought.  They  were  in  the 
main  street  now  and  nearing  the  St.  Cloud. 

"Can  you  take  us  down  there  again  this 
afternoon,  Mr.  Paine?"  Miss  Thost  leaned 


138          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

forward  as  the  car  was  stopping  and  said  the 
words  in  low  tone  in  Dick's  ear.  He  wheeled 
about  in  surprise. 

"Why,  haven't  you  seen  enough  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  take  some  things  down  to  that 
poor  family,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Oh,  I  see.  By  George,  it's  too  bad,  Miss 
Thost,  but  I  can't.  You  see  I  have  got  to 
leave  town  at  two,  and  there  is  no  dodging  it. 
Case  where  I'm  counsel,  you  know.  I'll  go 
to-morrow  afternoon,  though  ;  I'll  be  dead  glad 
to  go  with  you." 

"But  I  must  go  back  immediately." 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Miss  Thost,"  the  pastor 
volunteered,  quietly.  "I  can  get  a  horse  and 


"No,  you  don't,  Johnny;  you'll  take  my  car, 
that's  just  what  you'll  do.  You  name  the  hour 
and  I'll  send  the  chauffeur  right  down." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Paine,"  she  said,  her  face 
breaking  into  one  of  her  rare  smiles.  "We 
shall  be  glad  to  take  it.  You  may  call  at 
three." 

"Wish  I  could  go  myself,  by  George,  but 
business  is  business.  The  car'll  be  here  at  just 
three  o'clock,"  and  he  was  gone. 

The  car  came  indeed  before  three  o'clock. 
The  chauffeur  had  called  first  for  Miss  Thost, 


SOULS  INSURGENT  139 

who  was  waiting  for  him  already  with  suit- 
cases and  bundles,  and  then  had  taken  in  Gait 
at  the  St.  Cloud. 

"Miss  Paine  has  a  headache,"  she  announced, 
as  he  climbed  in  beside  her.  "She  overdid  this 
morning,  and  must  have  a  rest." 

"Oh,  we  can  take  care  of  this  case,"  he 
laughed,  in  unusually  high  spirits.  "But  what 
heaps  of  bundles!  You  have  certainly  been 
busy." 

"It's  children's  clothing,  mostly.  I  simply 
ordered  them  at  a  department  store.  I  don't 
dare  to  think  though  how  they'll  fit." 

"And  I  have  brought  blankets,"  he  cried. 
"We'll  keep  'em  warm  anyway." 

"Yes,  and  if  the  man  will  only  come  home 
sober  while  we  are  there  so  that  we  can  talk 
to  him,  everything  will  be  perfect."  She  looked 
over  at  him  and  smiled  in  anticipation. 

The  chauffeur  turned  to  the  right  through 
the  residence  section  where  lived  most  of  the 
pastor's  parishioners.  Several  of  them  passed 
by  on  the  walks,  but  he  did  not  see  them;  he 
was  discussing  eagerly  the  pitiful  little  family 
and  the  things  they  could  best  do  in  the  short 
time  they  had  at  their  disposal. 

There  was  a  fire  when  they  arrived,  and  the 
babies  were  crowing  in  glee.  They  had  eaten 


140          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

their  fill  and  it  was  warm.  The  two  set  to 
work  instantly.  The  half-grown  boy  was  put 
to  washing  the  floor  while  the  pastor  put  things 
to  rights  and  cleaned  out  the  rubbish  from  the 
corners  and  under  the  bed.  Miss  Thost  began 
at  once  upon  the  children,  whom  she  washed 
and  dressed  in  the  coarse,  warm  clothes  which 
she  had  provided.  It  was  no  easy  task.  The 
mother  could  do  nothing  save  lie  and  look  with 
amazement  and  consternation  at  the  vast  trans- 
formation that  was  going  on  before  her  eyes. 
It  was  to  her  almost  as  if  supernatural  crea- 
tures had  swooped  down  and  taken  possession 
of  the  place.  She  was  too  dazed  to  thank  them 
or  even  to  indicate  that  she  heard  Miss  Thost's 
emphatic  message  that  was  to  be  delivered  to 
the  husband,  and  her  announcement  that  they 
would  come  again  the  next  day  to  have  a  talk 
with  him. 

As  they  sped  homeward  through  the  gather- 
ing dusk,  Gait  felt  strangely  elated.  This  was 
work  after  his  own  heart.  What  a  joy  it  would 
be  to  go  every  day  to  such  homes  of  suffering 
and  sin,  to  teach  them  how  to  live,  to  help  them 
to  higher  conceptions  of  the  moral  life,  and  then 
to  bring  them  finally  the  vision  of  the  Christ 
and  the  Love  that  makes  all  things  new !  What 
a  work  it  would  be!  And  somehow  the  pres- 


SOULS  INSURGENT  141 

ence  of  the  woman  beside  him  added  to  his 
feeling  of  exultation.  How  many  in  his  church 
would  have  done  this  thing  ?  How  many  would 
have  dared? 

He  found  himself  studying  her  intently. 
There  was  about  her  an  unconscious  air  of  dis- 
tinction, the  air  of  one  who  has  come  as  an 
exotic  from  another  and  higher  circle  of  human 
life.  Somehow  he  felt  always  commonplace 
and  narrow  in  her  presence.  He  could  not  ex- 
plain it  or  define  it,  but  he  could  feel  it,  and  it 
spurred  him  to  higher  endeavor  and  to  loftier 
conceptions.  Here  was  strength  of  soul  and 
fearlessness  and  originality,  and  it  exhilarated 
him  in  spite  of  himself.  She  was  the  first 
woman  of  the  larger  mold  that  he  had  ever  met. 
How  he  could  work  with  a  church  made  up  of 
members  like  her!  Heretofore  he  had  known 
only  the  church  type  of  woman,  watchful  of 
the  conventionalities,  satisfied  with  the  surface 
of  things,  voluble  as  to  the  commonplaces  of 
life,  and  knowing  of  religion  only  the  vocabu- 
lary and  the  traditional  forms;  but  here  was  a 
woman  who  in  intellect  and  experience  of  life 
and  fearlessness  and  spiritually  was  his  supe- 
rior— he  felt  it  and  he  knew  it.  And  she  was 
a  Theosophist — a  preacher  of  fantastic  notions, 
a  setter  forth  of  strange  gods ! 


142          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"And  does  your  Theosophy  teach  you  to  go 
down  into  the  filth  of  the  slums,  Miss  Thost?" 
Before  he  realized  it,  his  thoughts  had  voiced 
themselves. 

"And  why  should  it  not,  Mr.  Gait  ?"  Again 
she  looked  up  at  him  with  childlike  wonder. 

"I  never  heard  of  a  Theosophist's  doing  it 
before,"  he  parried. 

"And  how  many  have  you  known?"  she 
asked,  softly. 

"Not  many — really,  to  be  honest,  Miss  Thost, 
you  are  the  first  I  ever  knew." 

Her  smile  confused  him  still  more. 

"I  have  told  you,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  said,  look- 
-  ing  over  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  dull  pupil  who 
needed  all  her  patience,  "that  we  base  our 
belief  on  the  fact  that  all  men  are  brothers. 
If  everyone  is  my  brother,  how  could  I  help 
doing  what  I  have  done?" 

"But  I  had  supposed  that  Theosophy  was  a 
mere  abstract  theory.  I  certainly  never  have 
looked  upon  it  as  a  system  to  be  practised 
actively  in  the  form  of  real  charity  and  real 
missionary  work.  This  phase  of  it  never  gets 
into  print,  I'm  sure  of  that." 

"So  you  have  read  our  literature?" 

"No,  I  haven't,  but—" 

"Come  over  and  hear  me  lecture  some  day, 


SOULS  INSURGENT  143 

Mr.  Gait,"  she  burst  out  impulsively.  "Come 
and  learn  what  we  really  are.  Can't  you  come 
Tuesday  afternoon  ?"  He  looked  over  into  her 
eager  face  and  hesitated. 

"Will  you  come  Sunday  and  hear  me?"  he 
parried. 

"Why,  I  intended  to  come,  anyway.  I 
always  attend  church." 

"Then,  I  suppose  it  is  only  fair  that  I  should 
come  and  hear  you,"  he  wavered,  influenced  in 
spite  of  himself  by  the  wistfulness  in  her  eyes. 

"I  hope  you  can,  Mr.  Gait.  I  should  really 
like  to  have  you  know  just  what  we  are.  I 
don't  think  it  will  shock  you  too  much."  She 
smiled  up  at  him  in  a  way  that  somehow  sent 
all  his  objections  flying.  "I  meet  my  class  at 
four  o'clock,  and  I  shall  expect  you." 

"And  I  shall  come,"  he  answered,  with  more 
of  positiveriess  in  his  tone  than  he  really 
intended. 

"I  knew  you  would,"  she  said,  and  he  turned 
quickly  to  look  into  her  face.  What  did  she 
mean  by  that? 

That  evening,  though  it  was  late  in  the  week 
and  his  Sunday  plans  were  well-nigh  complete, 
Gait  changed  his  text,  (and  began  his  sermon 
entirely  anew.  Far  into  the  night  he  worked 
upon  it  and  all  day  Saturday. 


144         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other :  for  there  is 
none  other  name  under  heaven  given  among  men, 
whereby  we  must  be  saved." 

He  had  but  one  audience  in  view,  this  woman 
who  had  so  strangely  entered  his  life.  He 
wrote  it  solely  for  her;  she  was  in  his  eye  as 
he  penned  every  word  of  it ;  and  he  found  him- 
self going  over  the  most  convincing  parts  as  if 
he  were  arguing  with  her  personally.  On  Sun- 
day morning,  when  he  saw  her  well  toward 
the  front  of  the  church  in  the  pastor's  own  pew, 
a  strange  feeling  of  trepidation  took  possession 
of  him.  He  began  weakly,  tremendously  con- 
scious of  her  presence,  but  as  he  got  into  the 
heart  of  his  message  he  forgot  her  and  launched 
out  with  his  whole  soul,  preaching  Jesus. 

It  was  only  after  the  benediction  that  he 
thought  again  of  Helda  Thost.  He  glanced 
quickly  to  the  pew  where  she  had  been  sitting, 
but  she  was  gone.  He  turned  to  find  Mrs. 
Bailey  at  his  elbow. 

"That  was  beautiful,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  was  say- 
ing effusively.  "It  was  just  beautiful.  You 
outdid  yourself,  really" — as  if  a  sermon  was  a 
mere  performance  to  be  praised  for  its  beauty 
like  a  violin  solo. 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  he  answered, 
automatically. 


SOULS  INSURGENT  145 

"I  have  come  to  invite  you  to  take  lunch  with 
us,"  she  went  on,  sweetly.  "We  really  want 
you  to.  Mr.  Bailey  is  waiting  for  us  at  the 
door." 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  come — of  course.  It's 
very  kind."  He  glanced  again  out  over  the 
retiring  congregation.  How  had  the  sermon 
impressed  Helda  Thost?  If  he  could  only  see 
her  now  and  argue  the  matter  with  her!  He 
was  in  the  mood  now  to  do  his  very  best. 
"Neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other" — 
what  could  she  say  to  that?  "There  is  none 
other  name  under  heaven" — how  would  Theos- 
ophy  square  with  that?  He  would  discuss  it 
with  her  when  he  saw  her  to-morrow. 

"You  were  really  inspired,  Mr.  Gait,"  he 
heard  the  woman  say,  as  they  walked  together 
down  the  street  amid  the  homing  worshippers. 
"I  never  heard  you  drive  home  the  Truth  so 
powerfully.  And  it  seems  almost  providential 
that  you  took  that  subject.  Of  course  you  did 
not  see  that  plain,  little  woman  whom  they  put 
into  the  pastor's  pew.  She  is  the  notorious 
Helda  Thost,  who  has  been  talked  about  so 
much,  the  one  who  is  going  about  doing  so 
much  harm  with  her  classes  in  Theosophy. 
You  couldn't  have  hit  it  better  if  you  had 
known.  She  was  tremendously  impressed.  I 


146          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

watched  her.  She  never  took  her  eyes  off  you 
a  moment  during  the  sermon.  It  will  do  her 
good/' 

The  pastor  had  an  impulse  to  tell  her  that 
the  sermon  had  been  prepared  and  preached 
solely  for  this  woman,  but  for  some  reason 
he  did  not.  Then  his  conscience  began  to 
awake. 

"She's  a  dangerous  woman,  Mr.  Gait.  I 
know  of  several  who  heard  her  last  winter  in 
Boston  and  they  say  she  exerts  a  peculiar  fas- 
cination over  young  women.  She  draws  them 
from  all  the  churches  and  completely  dazzles 
them:  Some  of  the  best  women  in  the  churches 
•  there,  they  say,  went  over  to  her  and  they  have 
never  come  back.  We  have  got  to  guard 
against  her.  She  was  there  to-day  only  to 
advertise  herself.  Really,  Mr.  Gait,  I  wish 
you  would  speak  against  her  some  evening  at 
prayer-meeting.  They  say  Effie  Means  has 
joined  the  class  already." 

"You  say  she  was  very  attentive?"  he  said, 
absently. 

"Of  course.  She  comes  to  get  arguments  to 
use  against  the  church.  That's  her  business. 
She  tells  her  girls  that,  so  if  she  goes  to  church 
they  can't  object  to  coming  to  hear  her.  Really, 
Mr.  Gait,  you  have  no  idea  what  a  power  for 


SOULS  INSURGENT  147 

evil  she  is.     We  must  work  against  her  this 
winter  in  every  way  that  we  possibly  can." 

Gait  made  no  reply.  His  conscience,  always 
sensitive,  was  awake  now.  He  felt  that  he  was 
playing  a  double  part,  and  yet  he  felt  that  he 
had  done  no  wrong.  Why  should  he  tell  Mrs. 
Bailey  what  had  taken  place  during  the  week? 
She  would  not  understand  him.  It  would  do 
no  good.  He  was  silent  and  abstracted  during 
all  the  lunch  hour,  a  fact  that  she  attributed  to 
reaction  after  his  sermon,  and  he  was  moody 
and  troubled  later  in  the  afternoon  when  he 
came  home  to  his  room. 

Was  it  right  for  him  to  go  to  this  lecture 
as  he  had  promised  ?  Some  of  his  church  mem- 
bers would  £>e  there.  What  would  they  say 
when  they  saw  their  pastor  in  the  class  ?  Mrs. 
Bailey,  he  well  knew,  had  voiced  the  sentiment 
of  the  more  influential  of  the  church.  He  was 
expected  openly  to  denounce  this  woman  and 
all  her  works,  and  here  he  was  planning  to 
encourage  her  work  by  his  presence.  Would 
it  not  create  scandal  and  harm  the  church? 
And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  why  should  he 
yield  to  their  shallow  prejudices?  Was  it  his 
conscience  that  was  condemning  him  or  was  it 
his  fear  of  what  people  would  say?  Was  he 
not  in  the  right,  as  God  saw  the  right?  He 


148          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

had  given  her  his  promise,  and  she  would  de- 
spise him  if  he  broke  it  simply  because  he  was 
afraid  of  the  babbling  voices  of  women.  Was 
he  not  strong  man  enough  to  follow  his  own 
ideas  of  right  and  to  let  people  talk  ? 

Thus  he  argued  and  fretted  and  struggled 
with  his  conscience,  but  always  when  he  had 
the  matter  fully  settled  some  word  of  hers  or 
some  look  would  flash  upon  him  and  he  would 
have  to  settle  the  matter  again. 

That  evening  the  affair  took  another  phase, 
but  Gait  did  not  know  it.  Someone  who  had 
seen  him  in  the  automobile  with  Miss  Thost 
whispered  of  it  to  Mrs.  Bailey. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   SPELL   OF   THE   EAST 

AT  three-thirty  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  Dick 
Paine  burst  into  the  pastor's  room  and 
found  him  curled  over  his  desk  with  open  books 
face  down  all  about  him. 

"Come  on,  Johnny,  we  can't  make  it  unless 
we  hustle,"  he  cried.  "It's  three-thirty.  Come 
on." 

"Where  are  you  going1,  Dick?" 

"Why,  down  on  Summer  Street;  don't  you 
know?  They  said  you  were  going,  so  I  came 
along.  But  we  have  got  to  hurry." 

"Sit  down,  Dick,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"But  we  haven't  any  time.  We  can't  get 
there  now  unless  we  run."  He  pulled  out  his 
watch  as  if  it  were  a  train  that  was  to  be 
caught. 

"I'm  not  going,  Dick." 

"Going!  Why,  man,  of  course  you  are 
going.  Didn't  you  tell  them  that  you  would 
go?  Didn't  you  promise?" 

149 


150          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"A  bad  promise  is  better  broken."  He 
turned  a  troubled  face  up  at  Dick. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Johnny!  You  make  me  sick. 
Be  a  man,  for  God's  sake,  and  stand  on  your 
own  feet.  What's  going  to  hurt  you  down 
there?  Are  you  so  hidebound  that  you  refuse 
to  hear  the  other  side  at  all?  Have  some  red 
blood  in  you.  I've  ordered  the  car  to  be  there 
at  five  o'clock,  and  we'll  all  spin  down  Harley 
way.  It's  just  what  you  need,  you  old  sermon- 
grinder." 

"But,  Dick,  you  don't  get  the  point  of  view. 
I'm  the  pastor  of  a  Christian  church.  This 
may  not  hurt  me,  but,  remember,  'if  meat  make 
my  brother  to  offend — ' ' 

"Oh,  chuck  it,  Johnny!  In  other  words,  you 
don't  dare  to  say  your  soul's  your  own  before 
that  bunch  of  old  maids  of  yours.  You  can't 
for  one  minute  do  what  you  know  to  be  right; 
you  have  got  to  do  what  they  think  is  right. 
You  have  got  to  be  cramped  right  down  into 
their  narrow  little  prejudices.  Cut  it,  old  man. 
It  will  shrivel  you  up  like  a  dried  jellyfish. 
You'll  be  only  a  smirking  little  'yes,  yes*  man, 
with  your  eyes  all  the  time  on  the  women  to 
see  how  they  take  it.  For  God's  sake,  Johnny, 
be  a  man  among  men.  It's  the  duty  of  a  pastor 
to  lead  his  people  and  not  be  driven  by  'em. 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      151 

Stand  on  your  own  feet  and  let  'em  talk.  This 
isn't  going  to  hurt  you  and  you  know  it,  and 
it  isn't  going  to  hurt  anybody  else.  It's  going 
to  broaden  you  and  make  more  of  a  man  of 
you  to  hear  the  other  side.  Pshaw !  come  on." 
He  grasped  the  pastor's  arm  boyishly  and 
pulled  him  to  his  feet. 

"But,  Dick—" 

"Here  it  comes,  Johnny.  Gee,  we've  got  to 
hustle.  Come  on.  That's  our  car  on  the  cor- 
ner. It  waits  there  just  one  minute.  Come  on. 
We  can  catch  it." 

Gait  wavered  a  single  instant,  and  then,  led 
by  an  impulse,  he  took  his  hat  and  coat  and 
hastened  after  Dick.  They  left  the  car  at  the 
foot  of  Summer  Street.  The  pastor  had  hardly 
spoken  all  the  way  down.  He  seemed  ab- 
stracted and  far  away.  Dick  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

"Now,  look  here,  Johnny,  brace  up,"  he  cried 
suddenly,  slapping  him  on  the  back.  "What 
are  you  looking  like  that  for?  We're  not  on 
our  way  to  commit  a  crime ;  we  aren't  going  to 
steal  sheep  or  rob  a  henroost.  Why,  your  face 
looks  like  an  indictment  for  murder,  and  has, 
all  the  way  down.  Come  on,  Johnny,  jolly  up 
and  be  something  like  a  real  man.  But,  pshaw ! 
what's  the  use  arguing  with  a  parson?  Re- 


152          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

ligion  is  a  disease,  and  you  can't  argue  with 
a  disease." 

Gait  did  not  answer.  He  was  hearing  very 
little  of  Dick's  harangue. 

"Yes,  sir,  that  is  just  what  it  is;  it's  a  dis- 
ease. You  can't  explain  it  on  any  other  basis. 
Take  your  Dowieites  and  Eddyacs  and  the  like 
— the  crowds  that  follow  them  are  not  what 
you  would  just  call  fools,  not  by  a  long  shot. 
They  have  simply  been  infected  with  a  disease, 
that's  all,  and  it  explains  all  the  phenomena. 
The  thing  becomes  epidemic  at  times  and 
spreads  like  measles.  Women  are  most  sus- 
ceptible and  it  goes  hardest  with  'em.  It's  up 
to  somebody  to  isolate  the  bacillus  and  discover 
a  serum.  The  world's  red  hot  for  him.  Now 
take  this  case  here,  for  example.  The  woman's 
got  a  class  of  ten  already,  so  Freddie  tells  me, 
and  it's  the  pick  of  the  city.  She'll  have  thirty 
in  a  month.  They  hang  over  her  as  if  she  had 
just  lit,  and  they  drink  in  every  word  with  their 
mouths  open  two  feet." 

"But  will  they  hold  out?  Isn't  it  just  curi- 
osity?" 

"Why,  of  course  they'll  hold  out.  It's  a  dis- 
ease, I  tell  you,  and  it's  incurable.  It  changes 
its  form  every  little  while  just  like  any  other 
variety  of  neuritis,  but  it  clings  like  St.  Vitus' 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      153 

dance.  Surgery  can't  touch  it  or  drugs,  and 
it  is  the  most  contagious  disease  known  to  med- 
icine. A  case  ought  to  be  quarantined  for  five 
years.  But,  look  here,  how's  this,  Johnny? 
Didn't  they  say  four  o'clock?  They  are  going 
away  and  by  George!  it's  only  five  minutes 
past." 

"Yes,  she  said  four." 

Gait  looked  at  the  group  with  some  curiosity. 
It  was  indeed  noteworthy.  There  were  ten,  at 
least,  alert,  confident-looking  women — wives 
and  daughters  and  mothers  in  prominent  fam- 
ilies. One  of  them  bowed  to  him  as  they 
passed,  a  member  of  his  church.  At  the  door 
he  looked  back  at  her  and  found  that  she  had 
looked  back  at  him  at  the  same  moment.  For 
some  reason  the  blood  leaped  to  his  face.  He 
went  into  the  hallway  almost  guiltily  and  fol- 
lowed Dick  up  a  stairway  and  along  a  wide 
corridor.  Before  an  inner  door  they  paused 
and  knocked. 

"Freddie  said  the  third  to  the  right.  This 
must  be  it."  But  there  was  no  response. 
After  a  moment  he  knocked  again.  "This  is 
the  third,  isn't  it?"  he  asked,  stepping  back  to 
count  again,  but  at  that  moment  the  door 
opened  noiselessly,  and  there  appeared  almost 
with  the  suddenness  of  an  apparition  a  woman 


154         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

in  white,  her  face  veiled  so  that  only  the  eyes 
were  visible. 

Without  a  word  it  beckoned  to  them  and 
turned  noiselessly.  The  door  closed  behind 
them  and  they  found  themselves  in  a  narrow 
passage  dimly  lighted  from  a  single  window 
at  the  end.  Then  pushing  aside  heavy  hang- 
ings they  found  themselves  in  a  room  whose 
outlines  at  first  were  vague  and  indistinct. 

"Wait  here."  The  figure  turned  and  van- 
ished. 

"Kind  o'  spooky  like,  Johnny,  eh?  Fairy 
godmother,  I  suppose.  But,  say!  They  un- 
derstand the  stage  setting,  all  right.  This  is 
Bagdad." 

They  peered  about  them  curiously.  The 
light,  dim  and  uncertain,  came  from  a  half- 
smothered  window  somewhere  at  the  side. 
There  were  no  chairs,  only  divans  and  otto- 
mans. All  outlines  of  the  room  seemed  lost 
in  draperies  and  soft  hangings.  Everywhere 
was  the  atmosphere  of  strangeness.  The 
lacquered  boxes,  the  brilliant  rugs,  the  dra- 
peries— everything  breathed  of  the  Orient.  In 
a  moment  they  had  left  behind  them  far,  im- 
measurably far  away,  all  the  rush  and  roar 
of  the  great  West  and  were  in  the  soul  of  the 
mysterious  East,  where  time  is  not  and  where 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      155 

mystery  hangs  over  all  things  like  the  breath- 
ings of  incense. 

"And  they  did  all  this  in  one  week!"  mar- 
velled Dick,  looking  about  him  in  real  admira- 
tion. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  ready  to  set  up  at  a  minute's 
notice,  like  a  magician's  outfit,"  began  the  pas- 
tor, but  he  lapsed  quickly  into  silence.  Miss 
Thost  had  come  in  through  the  noiseless  cur- 
tains. 

"I  am  sorry  I  could  not  get  you  word,"  she 
said,  simply.  "I  had  to  change  the  hour  at  the 
last  moment.  Do  be  seated,  please."  She  mo- 
tioned them  to  be  seated  and  then  sank  down 
wearily  upon  an  ottoman  by  the  door. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Dick  burst  out,  gal- 
lantly. "We  can  come  some  other  time.  This 
room's  enough  for  one  day." 

"I  talked  to  them  on  the  women  of  the  East," 
she  said,  speaking  in  low  tone,  as  if  reminis- 
cently  to  herself.  "And  I  touched  on  the  soul 
of  the  East  and  the  spell  of  the  East."  Gait 
found  himself  leaning  forward  and  straining 
to  catch  every  word.  "But  if  there  had  been 
no  change,  I  should  have  talked  differently.  I 
had  thought  to  explain  our  conception  of  hu- 
man life,  and  the  view  of  man  as  the  East 
conceives  it — the  tolerant,  gentle,  thinking 


156         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

East,  the  product  of  the  millions  of  millions 
of  thinking  souls  in  the  long  lapsing  of  the 
years." 

She  paused  and  there  was  silence. 

"And  the  woman  we  saw?"  Dick  asked,  after 
a  moment.  It  was  the  present  environment 
and  not  the  thousands  of  years  that  interested 
Dick. 

"Miss  Frieda  illustrates  costumes  and  man- 
ners. She  does  it  beautifully." 

"Good  make-up,"  Dick  commented,  and  for  a 
time  there  was  silence.  She  sat  perfectly  still, 
looking  with  far  eyes  out  into  the  dimness.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  forgotten  them. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  she  began,  suddenly,  turn- 
ing to  them  a  face  lighted  up  with  the  enthusi- 
asm that  had  undoubtedly  been  upon  it  during 
her  lecture  of  the  afternoon.  "It  clutches  you ; 
it  grips  your  imagination;  it  bears  you  out  of 
yourself.  The  spell  of  the  East — ah,  its  infinite 
past,  its  wisdom,  its  mystery,  its  passion,  its 
dreams,  its  wise  men — all  of  the  wise  men  of 
the  world  have  come  out  of  the  East.  They 
have  all  of  them  seen  the  star,  and  they  have 
all  rejoiced." 

Gait  felt  strangely  awed.  It  was  as  if  the 
woman  was  inspired  like  one  of  the  ancient 
pythonesses,  and,  rapt  with  her  message,  was 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      157 

pouring  it  out,  scarce  knowing  what  she  did. 
He  held  his  breath  to  catch  every  accent. 

"Have  you  been  in  the  East?"  he  asked  at 
length,  softly. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  have  been  in  India. 
India,"  she  repeated,  as  if  unconsciously. 

"India,"  he  found  himself  murmuring  to 
himself.  "India."  What  an  ocean  of  a  word ! 
"India!" 

"You  will  come  again,  Mr.  Gait?"  She 
raised  her  eyes  appealingly  to  his.  "You'll 
come  again  on  Thursday?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Miss  Thost.     Really—" 

"Yes,  he'll  come."  There  was  finality  in 
Dick's  tone.  "I'll  see  to  that.  He'll  be  here." 

The  pastor  turned,  he  knew  not  why,  and 
found  himself  looking  into  the  eyes  of  Miss 
Thost.  A  moment,  and  they  both  laughed. 
It  was  seldom  that  she  laughed.  She  smiled 
often,  but  he  had  heard  her  laugh  only  at  Dick. 

"Why,  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at.  He 
ought  to  come,  and  it's  my  duty  to  make  him. 
I  have  started  in  to  educate  him." 

Again  they  laughed.  There  was  always 
about  Dick  a  child-like  air  of  perfect  plausibility 
and  innocence  that  made  it  hard  to  tell  whether 
he  was  earnest  or  not.  Many  who  knew  him 
best  declared  that  the  more  infant-like  he 


158         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

seemed  in  his  innocence,  the  greater  was  the 
probability  that  he  did  not  mean  a  word  that 
he  said. 

"You  mustn't  take  him  seriously,"  the  pastor 
laughed. 

"But  I  am  serious,"  he  exploded  petulantly. 
"When  you  see  a  man  turning  into  a  fossil 
right  before  your  eyes,  don't  you  try  to  save 
him?" 

"Oh,  I'm  hopeless,  perfectly  hopeless.  But, 
Dick,  we  must  be  going  now."  He  arose  and 
bowed  in  a  self-conscious  way  to  Miss  Thost. 
"It  was  good  of  you  to  invite  us,"  he  said,  the 
conventional  words  rising  to  his  lips  by  sheer 
force  of  habit. 

"But  you  must  stay  for  some  tea." 

"No." 

"We  shall  be  delighted,  Miss  Thost."  Dick 
bowed  in  courtly  acceptance  and  resumed  his 
seat ;  after  a  wavering  moment,  Gait  also  sank 
back  upon  the  divan.  The  woman  disappeared 
among  the  hangings. 

"Say,  this  is  the  real  thing,  isn't  it,  Johnny?" 
Dick  chuckled.  "There  isn't  a  false  note  in 
the  whole  show.  You're  right  in  the  heart  of 
Bagdad."  He  looked  about  him  admiringly. 

Now  that  their  eyes  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  dim  light,  they  could  make  out  more 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      159 

clearly  the  details  of  the  room.  The  furnish- 
ings— rugs,  hangings,  drapery,  divans — all 
were  of  Oriental  make.  There  was  curious 
bric-a-brac  everywhere — filigreed  chests, 
weapons,  musical  instruments,  idols,  pictures, 
red-lacquered  furniture,  fabrics,  and  quaint 
ottomans.  It  seemed  to  Gait  now  as  if  there 
were  a  faint  haze  in  the  room,  and,  as  he 
thought  of  it,  he  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
there  was  a  trace  of  perfume,  a  breath  as  of 
burnt  incense,  a  subtle  odoV  that  had  been  in 
his  consciousness  ever  since  he  had  entered,  and 
that  had  just  defined  itself. 

A  moment  and  the  woman  returned  with  a 
lacquered  box  in  her  hands.  Frieda  Paine  was 
behind  her  with  a  tea  urn  of  beaten  brass  which 
she  deposited  on  the  floor  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  Then  the  two,  sitting  in  Oriental 
fashion,  lighted  an  alcohol  lamp  under  the  urn, 
which  was  now  seen  to  contain  steaming  water, 
and  then  busied  themselves  with  another  box 
from  which  they  took  tiny  cups  and  saucers 
and  spoons.  Neither  of  them  spoke,  and  for 
a  moment  the  spell  which  seemed  to  be  upon  the 
room  was  unbroken  even  by  Dick.  But  it  was 
only  for  a  moment. 

"What  did  you  take  it  off  for,  Freddie  ?"  he 
began,  jovially.  "We  want  to  see  it." 


160          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Oh,  don't,  Dick,"  she  protested  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded.     "Don't  what?" 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  as  if  the  serving 
of  the  tea  was  a  sacred  rite.  After  a  silence 
he  began  on  another  tack. 

"That's  a  fine  hubble-bubble  pipe  you've  got 
over  there,"  he  announced.  "Has  it  ever  been 
smoked?  I'd  like  to  try  at  it." 

"Oh,  Dick." 

"I'll  bet  it  takes  a  horse-power  draught, 
though.  Say,  Miss  Thost,  do  you  care  if  I 
light  it  up  some  day?" 

"No,  indeed,"  she  said,  simply. 

"I'll  try  it  the  very  next  time.  You  remem- 
ber those  touching  lines  of  Browning,  Freddie : 

"  'By  hookah  by  crook, 
A  man  must  smoke.'  " 

"That's  not  Browning,"  she  said  solemnly. 
"That's  in  the  'Upanishads.'  " 

Somehow  the  pastor  was  watching  closely 
the  little  figure  so  busy  with  the  tea.  There 
was  what  Dick  had  called  "an  air  about  her" 
and  there  was  mystery.  Amid  her  surround- 
ings she  seemed  like  a  sibyl  performing  strange 
rites.  Dick,  he  noticed,  was  again  unusually 
brilliant  and  vivacious. 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      161 

"The  tea,"  she  announced  at  length,  as  if  the 
words  were  a  part  of  a  ritual,  "is  from  India. 
It  is  a  sacred  essence  drunk,  the  East  believes, 
only  by  souls  who  are  fit.  Besides  this,  there 
is  none  outside  of  India."  She  arose  as  one 
who  performs  a  religious  rite,  and  handed  the 
pastor  a  tiny  cup  which  steamed  with  an  aroma 
as  of  rare  incense. 

"I  am  not  worthy,"  he  said,  gallantly. 

"Yes,  you  are  worthy."  She  looked  at  him 
and  smiled. 

"Almost  you  persuade  me  to  be  a  Hindoo." 
Dick  sipped  at  his  cup  ecstatically. 

"It's  a  part  of  that  mysterious  East  of  which 
we  know  so  little,"  Frieda  Paine  began,  in  an 
inspired  way.  "Really,  all  our  wisdom  and  all 
religion  came  first  of  all  from  the  East.  Is 
that  not  true,  Miss  Helda?" 

"Not  all  religion,  Miss  Frieda." 

"Well,  then,  all  the  great  religions.  Chris- 
tianity came  from  the  East.  I  remember  you 
said  that.  Christianity  came  from  India." 

"Indeed  not  Christianity,"  Gait  broke  in  with 
decision.  "On  that  point  we  can  be  absolutely 
certain.  Christianity  originated  with  Jesus  in 
the  province  of  Judea  early  in  the  first  century. 
That's  historical  ground." 

"Christianity  is  merely  an  old  religion  in  a 


162          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

new  form."  Miss  Thost's  tone  was  that  of  the 
teacher  who  corrects  her  pupil  with  infinite 
patience.  "Christ,  as  you  know,  received  His 
training  in  the  Essene  monastery  under  Mount 
Serbal,  and  later  in  Egypt.  He  knew  all  of 
the  Eastern  mysteries.  He  taught  very  little 
that  is  not  contained  in  the  old  trans-Hima- 
layan scriptures." 

"That  is  folk-lore,  mere  myth,"  the  pastor 
broke  out,  testily. 

"Have  you  ever  compared  the  similarities 
and  the  differences,  Mr.  Gait?"  she  asked, 
sweetly.  "Have  you  read  these  scriptures?" 

"No;  because  they  are  not  scriptures  in  the 
sense  that  ours  are  scriptures.  They  are  mere 
writings,  and  the  Bible  was  given  by  inspira- 
tion." 

"All  scriptures  have  been  given  by  inspira- 
tion, Mr.  Gait,"  she  answered  serenely.  "The 
higher  truths  in  all  ages  have  come  not  from 
man,  but  from  God  through  man.  Does  it  not 
savor  of  narrowness  to  condemn  all  truth  that 
has  not  come  in  one's  own  preconceived  way?" 

"But  you  degrade  Christ  to  the  level  of  an 
eastern  mystic.  You  deny  His  divinity." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  said,  very  gently. 
"You  wrong  us.  We  insist  on  His  divinity." 

"All  men  are  divine,"  Frieda  Paine  broke  in, 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      163 

with  eagerness.  "We  are  broader  than  Chris- 
tianity. Our  primary  object  is  'a  universal 
brotherhood  of  humanity  without  distinction  of 
race,  sex,  caste,  color,  or  creed.'  Surely  you 
can  accept  that.  We  bind  you  in  no  other 
way." 

"Careful,  Johnny,  careful  there.  Watch  out. 
The  hook's  in  plain  sight.  It  isn't  even  cov- 
ered." 

"But,  you  ask  me  to  surrender  my — " 

"Why,  Mr.  Gait."  There  was  wonder  in 
the  large  eyes.  "We  are  not  asking  you  to  do 
anything  or  to  accept  anything.  We  are  merely 
explaining  our  standpoint,  so  you  will  under- 
stand us.  You  want  to  know  the  Truth,  don't 
you?" 

"Why,  yes." 

"You  don't  have  to  surrender  your  creed  or 
to  accept  a  creed."  The  fire  of  battle  was  in 
Frieda  Paine's  eyes.  "It  says  'without  distinc- 
tion of  creed.'  We  mean  that  we  make  no 
inquiries  as  to  a  man's  creed  before  we  acknowl- 
edge him  as  our  brother.  Isn't  Christianity 
based  on  the  idea  of  brotherhood?" 

"Hands  off  there,  Freddie.  Two  to  one 
isn't  sportsmanlike.  If  we're  going  to  have  a 
debate,  it's  going  to  be  under  regular  rules, 
with  judges  and  timekeeper.  Or  we  can  make 


164          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

it  a  preaching-match,  Johnny.  That's  the 
thing.  I'll  be  judge.  Choose  texts,  one,  two, 
three." 

"Please  don't,  Dick." 

"Now,  why  not,  I  want  to  know?  Isn't  it 
common  sense  to  do  things  right  and  according 
to  rule?  And  wouldn't  a  preaching-match  be 
a  sportsmanlike  affair  ?  As  Browning  so  beau- 
tifully says : 

'Preaching's  the  only  athletic  sport  to-day 

Where  woman  competes  with  man  unhandicapped.' " 

"Dick,  I'll  give  you  anything  you  ask  if  you 
will  never  say  Browning  to  me  again." 

"Why,  I  thought  that  was  what  you  wanted. 
I  thought  this  whole  thing  was  based  on  Brown- 
ing— esoteric  Browning — 'Browning  involved 
to  the  «th  power/  as  Mrs.  Besant  says." 

"You  are  making  fun  of  us,  Dick." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  just  thinking  of 
joining  you.  How  much  Browning  does  it 
take  to  signify  first  intention?  and  how  many 
chapters  of  'Science  and  Health'  ?" 

"It  doesn't  take  any,"  she  answered  testily. 
"But,  Mr.  Gait,  you  ought  to  read  some  of  our 
books.  Now,  here's  a  beautiful  translation  of 
the  'Upanishads.'  We  shall  be  glad  to  have 
you  take  it.  It  is  beautiful." 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      165 

"What's  it  about,  Freddie?"  Dick  inquired 
anxiously. 

"Why,  the  old  religion  of  India — the — what 
really  are  the  'Upanishads/  Miss  Helda?" 

"They  are  the  third  division  of  the  'Vedas' — 
the  revealed  word.  They  are  the  earliest 
attempts  of  the  Hindoo  mind  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery of  the  Supreme  Being  and  the  problem  of 
human  life.  Some  of  them  are  perhaps  a  thou- 
sand years  older  than  Solomon." 

"And  Theosophy  is  based  on  them?"  Gait 
asked. 

"Why,  indeed  not,  Mr.  Gait,  no  more  than 
upon  the  New  Testament  or  the  writings  of 
Confucius.  You  don't  understand  us.  We 
only  seek  the  Truth  wherever  it  may  be  found. 
Theosophy  is  simply  that,  and  to  serve  one's 
fellow  men — that's  the  soul  of  it.  If  you  are 
truly  doing  that,  then  you  are  a  Theosophist, 
whether  you  realize  it  or  not." 

"We  seek  only  the  spiritual,"  Frieda  Paine 
joined  in,  eagerly.  "We  oppose  materialism. 
We  believe  that  'there's  a  life  that  touches  to 
the  quick  that  the  world  knows  not' — that's  not 
the  exact  quotation.  It  was  from  Edwin 
Arnold,  wasn't  it?  You  gave  it  to  us  yester- 
day, Miss  Helda." 

"I  quoted  the  poet  Yeats : 


1 66          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

'There  is  a  life  that  breathes  not, 
Powers  that  be 

That  touch  each  other  to  the  quick,  in  modes 
Which  the  dull  world  no  sense  hath  to  perceive, 
No  soul  to  dream  of.' " 

Gait  said  nothing.  No  woman  before  had 
ever  had  such  power  to  move  him.  The  lines 
sank  into  his  brain  as  if  engraved  with  iron. 
He  would  use  them  in  his  next  sermon.  As  she 
uttered  them  they  seemed  to  sound  the  depths 
of  human  life.  He  sat  in  silence  and  looked 
at  her. 

''Oh,  Miss  Helda!"  Miss  Paine  turned  to 
the  woman  with  sparkling  eyes.  "Won't  you 
play  again  that  air  you  gave  us  to-day  in  your 
lecture,  the  old  Indian  chant?" 

Miss  Thost  said  nothing,  but  arose  and  took 
from  the  wall  an  unusual  stringed  instrument, 
over  which  she  swept  her  fingers  in  soft  chords. 

"You  must  remember,"  Miss  Paine  an- 
nounced, in  a  hushed  voice,  "that  this  is  an  old 
religious  melody,  so  old  that  it  is  even  older 
than  the  'Upanishads.'  It's  primitive  Indian 


music." 


Gait  watched  the  woman  in  almost  breathless 
interest  as  she  tuned  her  instrument  and  settled 
herself  to  play.  She  began  softly  with  a  trem- 
ulous movement  against  a  background  of  half- 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      167 

heard  beatings.  As  she  went  on,  the  volume 
increased.  There  was  no  distinguishable  air. 
The  pitch  became  higher;  the  monotonous  roll 
of  the  background  became  more  and  more  dom- 
inant; and  the  effect  of  it  was  to  create  some- 
thing like  a  growing  excitement  over  one  knew 
not  what.  Gait  felt  himself  exhilarated. 
There  came  to  him,  out  of  the  shrilling  and  the 
fluttering  and  the  tom-tom  rolling,  a  sense  of 
lightness,  a  desire  to  rise  up  and  up  and  up 
where  he  might  soar  and  know.  Then  the 
movement  changed  into  a  minor  strain.  The 
shrilling  became  like  shrieks ;  the  tom-tom  roll 
seemed  like  heart-beats  when  one  is  filled  with 
fear.  A  horror  came  over  him.  It  was  as  if 
invisible  wings  were  brushing  him,  and  unseen 
presences  were  hovering  so  near  that  he  could 
hardly  breathe.  The  music  suddenly  ceased. 
He  turned  to  find  Frieda  Paine,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing with  excitement,  looking  at  him,  search- 
ingly.  He  turned  away  in  a  sort  of  confusion, 
he  knew  not  why. 

"How  did  you  like  it?"  she  asked,  intensely. 

"Why,  it  does  not  seem  like  music  at  all,  yet 
it  has  a  certain  power  to  move  one." 

"It  was  like  the  overture  in  a  Chinese 
theatre,"  pronounced  Dick,  positively.  "You 
ought  to  learn  a  chop-stick,  rice-bowl  accom- 


:68          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

paniment,  really,  Freddie,  and  make  it  more 
realistic." 

"It  is  music,"  Miss  Paine  went  on,  tensely, 
ignoring  Dick.  "The  highest  kind  of  music, 
and  it's  the  oldest  music  in  the  world." 

"By  George,  I  believe  it;  it  certainly  sounds 
that  way.  I'll  bet  Eve  used  to  play  that  piece 
to  Adam." 

"Won't  you  sing  to  us,  Miss  Helda?"  Miss 
Paine  looked  over  at  her  entreatingly.  "Sing 
the  little  piece  you  gave  us  yesterday." 

"Yes,  sing  to  us,  Miss  Thost,"  Gait  added, 
quickly.  "We  have  never  heard  you  sing." 

"Don't  you  know  'Jerusalem'  or  'The  Merry 
Widow,'  or  something  like  that?  That's  the 
music  that  gets  hold  of  anybody." 

"Don't  mind  him,  Miss  Helda." 

"I  think  you  will  like  this,"  she  said,  and 
without  preliminaries  she  began  a  low  chant, 
with  the  same  monotonous  accompaniment  that 
had  characterized  the  first  piece.  The  words 
were  in  a  strange  tongue,  but  there  was  no  mis- 
taking their  import.  It  was  the  plaint  of  one 
groping  in  the  dark,  the  earnest  yearning  of  a 
soul  that  seeks  the  truth  and  the  light.  When 
the  last  note  had  died  away,  Gait  sighed  as  if 
he  had  been  holding  his  breath. 

"What  was  that  ?"  he  whispered,  intensely. 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST      169 

"It  was  a  chant  sung  in  the  old  Himalayan 
temples,  a  prayer  of  the  soul  to  the  All-soul." 

"Oh." 

"It's  time  to  go."  Dick  had  arisen  with  his 
watch  in  his  hand.  "Get  your  wraps  now. 
The  car  has  been  here  just  twenty  minutes. 
We  are  all  going  out  Harley  way  and  get  some 
of  the  good  air.  Come  on." 

"I'm  sorry  about  the  lecture,  Mr.  Gait,"  Miss 
Thost  said  as  they  were  passing  through  the 
long  hall.  Her  voice  was  very  low  and  her 
eyes,  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  were  childlike  in 
their  earnestness.  "But  you  will  come  again, 
Thursday?" 

The  pastor  looked  down  into  her  face  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  answered,  slowly: 

"Yes,  I  will  come." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   DAUGHTERS    OF    NECESSITY 

IT  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Gait  found 
himself  again  in  his  room.  Dick  had  taken 
them  far  out  beyond  Harley  to  surprise  them 
with  a  little  inn  of  his  discovery,  and  after  din- 
ner he  had  swung  them  on  a  long  detour 
through  the  suburbs.  And  the  pastor  had  en- 
joyed every  moment  of  it  as  heartily  even  as 
Dick.  The  brisk  air  and  the  rapid  motion  had 
invigorated  him  and  had  filled  him  with  unusual 
spirits.  It  was  good  for  one,  he  had  declared, 
to  get  once  in  a  while  completely  away  from 
one's  work  and  to  view  life  from  a  totally  new 
angle. 

Now,  in  his  room,  as  he  dropped  into  his 
chair  and  looked  about  on  the  open  books  and 
the  scraps  of  notes  and  the  manuscript,  it 
seemed  for  the  moment  as  if  he  were  viewing 
the  work  of  another  man.  How  far  away  the 
struggle  and  the  bitterness  and  the  doubt  of 
the  early  afternoon,  and  how  needless.  His 

veins  still  thrilled  with  the  brisk  air.     He  had 

170 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     171 

been  morbid  and  over-conscientious.  The  ex- 
perience of  the  afternoon  was  just  what  he  had 
needed  to  broaden  him  and  bring  him  to  his 
senses. 

His  eye  was  caught  by  the  little  clock  on  his 
desk,  and  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound.  He 
had  an  engagement  for  the  evening — he  had 
two  engagements,  and  he  had  broken  both  of 
them.  He  had  told  Mother  Brown  that  he 
would  call  at  half-past  five  and  have  a  talk  with 
her  about  Miss  Carniston,  and  he  had  promised 
to  meet  his  missionary  committee  at  Mrs. 
Bailey's  at  seven.  He  started  to  his  feet,  but 
he  sat  down  again.  It  was  too  late  even  to 
go  down  to  the  Mission.  The  house  would  be 
closed  for  the  night.  He  must  wait  until  morn- 
ing. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  in  his  study  chair 
rocking  with  monotonous  swing.  It  was  not 
Mrs.  Bailey  that  was  troubling  him  now;  it 
was  Isobel  Carniston.  She  had  been  perplex- 
ing him  more  and  more  of  late.  At  first  he 
had  understood  the  case  completely.  He  had 
analyzed  it  like  a  problem  and  had  solved  it 
in  all  its  complexities.  He  was  a  young  man 
and  therefore  able  to  read  the  human  heart; 
and  he  was  unmarried  and  alone,  and  thus 
especially  equipped  to  know  the  recesses  of  the 


172          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

feminine  soul.  The  case  had  been  perfectly 
clear :  the  girl  was  a  worldling,  drunk  with  life, 
thoughtless,  impulsive,  headstrong — a  type  well 
known  and  all  too  common.  He  had  prophe- 
sied the  steps  of  her  awakening  as  the  mathe- 
matician plots  the  path  of  the  moving  point. 
Was  she  not  a  woman  and  therefore  to  be  solved 
like  a  problem  in  algebra? 

There  could  be  but  one  outcome.  She  would 
lapse  into  bitter  regret,  of  course;  she  would 
grow  into  wistfulness  and  unutterable  longing; 
and  if  nature  took  its  perfect  way,  she  would 
end  at  last  in  complete  despair.  But  before 
this  there  would  come  his  chance.  He  would 
take  her  at  the  perfect  moment,  and  touch  her 
and  thrill  her  with  the  Christ  vision.  She 
would  sit  weakly  in  her  invalid  chair  amid  the 
pillows,  pale,  wistful-eyed,  ever  close  to  tears, 
and  she  would  say  to  the  dear  old  soul  who  for 
days  had  given  herself  like  a  mother,  "I'm  not 
worth  it.  Just  let  me  die  and  be  done  with  it." 
And  Mother  Brown  would  caress  the  wan 
cheeks  and  tell  her  that  a  single  human  soul 
was  worth  more  than  all  the  world  besides ;  that 
the  dear  Christ  was  eager  and  waiting;  that  He 
was  yearning  to  forgive  her  and  to  make  her 
even  yet  what  she  might  have  been.  Then  the 
girl  would  cry  softly,  and  they  would  read 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     173 

together  that  chapter  in  John,  and  there  would 
be  joy  even  among  the  angels  in  heaven. 

But  Isobel  Carniston  had  done  nothing  of  the 
kind. 

For  a  day  or  two,  while  she  was  passing  from 
the  shadow  of  danger,  the  pastor  had  called 
often.  He  had  not  seen  her,  but  he  had  heard 
her,  and  as  the  time  went  on,  he  had  begun  to 
revise  certain  of  his  ideals. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  Dick  had  been  right  ? 

"Johnny,"  he  had  said,  "you  don't  know  any 
more  about  women  than  you  do  about  the 
Begum  of  Swat."  And  he  had  said  that  the 
girl  had  no  soul,  that  she  was  a  butterfly,  a 
magnificent  animal,  and  nothing  besides. 

What,  after  all,  is  the  soul?  May  it  not  lie 
dormant  in  a  life,  to  be  called  into  activity  at 
length  by  some  shock  that  stirs  the  deeps?  It 
did  not  seem  impossible.  It  was  only  in  the 
light  of  some  such  theory  indeed  that  the  girl's 
conduct  could  in  any  way  be  explained.  One 
must  be  self-sacrificing  to  appreciate  self-sacri- 
fice in  others.  If  one  be  wholly  self-centred, 
one  takes  service  as  one's  due.  The  girl  seemed 
to  know  only  the  present  moment,  and  is  there 
anything  in  man  save  the  soul  that  knows  of 
anything  else? 

She  was  selfish  and  vain  and  therefore  cruel. 


174          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Flattery  and  excitement  and  movement  and 
color  had  been  her  daily  narcotic,  and  now  her 
whole  being  demanded  them  with  an  imperious- 
ness  that  would  not  be  denied.  She  whined  in 
self-pity,  or  fretted  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,  or 
exploded  in  tempestuous  wrath.  Her  voice, 
querulous  or  high,  had  penetrated  to  him  more 
than  once  as  he  had  sat  with  Mother  Brown 
discussing  the  girl,  and  it  had  jarred  upon  him 
as  few  things  ever  had  done  in  his  whole  experi- 
ence. There  had  been  not  one  hint  of  sorrow 
for  the  past,  or  of  resolve  for  the  future;  nor 
was  there  one  throb  of  appreciation  of  what  was 
being  done  for  her,  or  one  symptom  that  she 
realized  her  true  position. 

He  turned  at  length  to  his  desk  by  sheer  force 
of  habit.  Whatever  might  happen,  the  sermon 
must  still  go  on.  But  what  was  the  matter  with 
his  material  ?  His  notes,  as  he  read  them  over, 
seemed  lifeless.  The  subject  no  longer  ap- 
pealed to  him;  it  was  too  narrow  in  its  scope, 
and  too  trite  and  conventional.  He  closed  the 
books  one  by  one  and  put  them  back  in  place, 
and  then  sheet  by  sheet  he  tore  up  the  manu- 
script and  threw  it  into  the  basket.  He  must 
have  a  topic  that  would  exhibit  Christianity  in 
all  its  magnitude.  She  was  coming  again — 
she  had  said  so  that  afternoon — and  she  must 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     175 

be  convinced  that  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ 
is  all-sufficient  and  all-enduring. 

Rapidly  he  leafed  through  the  notebook 
where  he  had  jotted  down  random  thoughts  and 
sermon  hints.  There  was  nothing  there  that 
seemed  wholly  adequate.  Perhaps  the  text, 
"Are  not  Abana  and  Pharphar,  rivers  of 
Damascus,  better  than  all  the  waters  of  Israel," 
might  do.  "Israel"  could  be  taken  to  cover  all 
Christianity.  He  would  lift  it  into  the  pure 
ether  of  absolute  Truth  and  then  contrast  it 
with  all  other  religions  and  especially  the  petty 
newnesses  of  the  day.  The  subject  impressed 
him  more  and  more  as  he  dwelt  upon  it.  It 
would,  however,  require  study;  it  would  de- 
mand powerful  handling  if  it  were  to  instruct 
and  move  her.  No  conventional  message 
would  satisfy  that  clear  soul,  and  no  breath  of 
cant  or  of  Pharisaism  would  escape  her.  His 
view  must  be  world-wide  and  his  toleration,  as 
well,  and  his  sympathy. 

With  characteristic  energy  he  began  instantly 
upon  his  preparation.  It  flashed  upon  him  that 
he  had  in  his  overcoat  pocket  her  copy  of  ex- 
tracts from  the  "Upanishads."  That  would  be 
a  good  starting-point.  He  got  it  and  examined 
it  with  curiosity.  It  was  a  dainty  thing  with 
vellum  binding  and  immaculate  margins,  and 


176          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

there  breathed  from  it  that  subtle  odor  of  in- 
cense that  henceforth  he  was  to  associate 
always  with  her.  Her  name  was  on  the  title 
page — "Helda  Thost" — in  a  hand,  it  seemed  to 
him,  no  one  else  could  have  written,  so  dis- 
tinctive was  it  and  so  full  of  her  personality. 
He  had  never  seen  her  writing  before.  All 
through  the  book  there  were  marked  passages 
and  little  marginal  notes.  How  alert  she  was 
and  how  full  had  been  her  reading!  There 
came  to  him  a  new  conception  of  the  woman: 
here  was  a  soul  that  could  rise  above  petty  con- 
ventionalities and  prejudice  and  be  satisfied  only 
with  the  eternal  values.  And  she  had  the  cour- 
age of  her  convictions;  she  had  broken  away 
and  was  content  only  with  the  Truth  in  its 
universal  wholeness.  She  was  honest — that 
was  written  in  every  line,  and  she  was  impa- 
tient with  every  trace  of  blind,  unthinking 
acceptance  of  dogma.  More  than  once  he 
found  her  words,  "Prove  all  things."  "This 
thrills  with  life  and  is  true."  On  and  on  he 
read  in  a  kind  of  excitement,  heedless  of  the 
time  of  night,  and  only  when  the  book  was  com- 
pleted did  he  awake  to  himself.  It  was  half- 
past  two. 

He  did  not  sleep  well.     His  mind  was  in  a 
turmoil.     He  was  up  at  half-past  six  and  at  the 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     177 

price  of  his  breakfast  he  took  a  long  walk  out 
beyond  the  suburbs  into  the  open  spaces  where 
there  were  fields  and  gardens.  It  was  the  nine- 
teenth of  March.  The  spring  was  breaking 
early.  Robins  and  bluebirds  called  from  the 
tall  maples,  and  flickers  and  grackles  sent  their 
raucous  cackle  from  the  distant  patches  of 
woodland.  The  morning  and  the  spring 
quickly  drove  from  him  every  trace  of  his  night 
of  brooding.  He  felt  like  a  boy.  Once  he 
broke  into  a  run  in  the  excess  of  his  spirits.  A 
farmer  asked  him  to  ride  and  it  seemed  almost 
like  an  insult.  The  spring  was  in  his  blood. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  got  back  to  Mother 
Brown's  Mission.  He  would  go  in  and  apolo- 
gize for  his  neglect  of  the  evening  before.  The 
girl  had  been  sick  just  a  week  now  and  she 
ought  to  be  gaining.  Perhaps  in  a  week  more 
she  might  be  sitting  up. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  softly. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!"  The  door 
had  opened  even  while  he  was  rapping.  "She's 
frightfully  restless.  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  her.  She's  up  and  in  the  big  chair  by 
the  window,  but  she  is  fretting  herself  to 
death." 

She  turned  and  he  followed  her.  In  the  hall, 
as  he  was  taking  off  his  coat,  he  caught  a 


i/8          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

glimpse  of  her  through  the  open  door  propped 
up  in  the  rocker  amid  cushions  facing  him  full, 
and  the  vision  startled  him  even  as  it  had  on 
that  morning  at  the  mission.  What  strange 
creature  was  this  forever  mocking  him  and 
flying  in  the  face  of  all  his  preconceptions? 
This  was  no  invalid,  wan  and  hollow-eyed,  no 
penitent  Magdalen  shrinking  and  tearful,  ap- 
pealing with  mute  pathos  for  the  sympathy  that 
even  the  pitiful  must  withhold.  She  was  pale, 
but  the  waxen  pallor  under  the  marvellous  gold 
only  intensified  her  beauty.  He  stood  embar- 
rassed for  an  instant,  groping  for  the  right 
word  to  say. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  burst  out,  in  a  voice  that 
betrayed  no  weakness.  "Is  it  really  you? 
Positively,  you  are  the  first  living  thing  I  have 
seen  for  a  thousand  years.  Positively,  you 
are." 

"Then  you  must  be  the  sleeping  beauty,  just 
awake,"  he  answered,  with  a  gallantry  that 
surprised  him. 

"I've  been  here  a  million  years.  I  can't 
remember  when  I  wasn't  here.  My  God,  is 
there  a  single  thing  alive  anywhere — a  single 
thing  in  the  whole  world?" 

"Why,  the  world  is  very  much  alive,"  he 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     179 

replied,  wonderingly.  "It's  spring  and  the 
morning  is  just  running  over  with  life." 

''Then,  why  have  I  got  to  lie  here?"  she 
demanded,  fiercely,  as  if  he  only  were  to  blame. 
"Why  have  I  got  to  be  tied  and  chained  down 
here  where  I  can't  get  a  breath?  And  every- 
thing else  in  the  whole  world  is  happy  but  just 
me — and  I  tied  down  here  in  this  prison.  Oh, 
there's  a  hell  all  right.  I've  been  in  it  a  week 
— I've  been  tied  down  with  red-hot  chains  for 
a  week,  and  what  have  I  done  ?  My  God,  what 
have  I  done?" 

"Sh!— Sh!  There!— there!"  Mother  Brown 
went  up  to  her  and  took  her  hand  softly.  "You 
mustn't,  little  girlie!  What  will  Mr.  Gait 
think?" 

"I  don't  care  what  he  thinks;  he  said  I  de- 
served it.  He  said  I  ought  to  suffer  in  hell 
a  million  years." 

"Oh,  no,  no.     You  are  wrong,  Isobel — " 

"He  did,  and  he's  glad  of  it.  And  what 
have  I  done?  Is  it  any  sin  to  be  happy?  Am 
I  to  blame  for  loving  happy  things  ?  Is  it  my 
fault  that  I  want  to  live?  to  live?"  Her  eyes 
were  wild  and  glittering. 

"Oh,  Isobel,  please—" 

"What  are  pretty  things  for  ?"  she  stormed — 


i8o         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"dresses  and  music  and  dances  and  happy, 
happy  things?  And  it  all  stopped  in  one  min- 
ute— and  they  threw  me  away — oh,  the  cowards 
— oh,  if  I  ever  get  well — " 

"Why,  Isobel,  is  this  the  way  you  welcome 
Mr.  Gait,  who  has  taken  so  much  trouble  to 
come  down  to  see  you?" 

"I  don't  care;  he  glories  in  it.  He  said  I 
deserved  it.  He  said  there's  a  God,  and  it's  a 
lie.  If  there  was  a  God,  would  He  put  me  into 
hell  and  let  them  go  free,  just  as  if  they  were 
angels  of  heaven?  You  tell  me  that."  She 
paused  breathless  and  looked  at  him  wildly.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  the  judge  who  had  con- 
demned her. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Miss  Carniston," 
he  said  slowly,  like  a  doctor  over  a  doubtful 
case.  He  was  rocking  back  and  forth  in  his 
armchair  and  looking  at  her  as  if  she  were 
infinitely  far  away. 

"Oh,  so  you  don't  understand?"  she  retorted 
hotly.  "That's  just  what  I  thought.  Oh,  it 
makes  me  sick  the  way  you  people  up  there  lay 
down  your  little  rules  as  if  you  was  God  Him- 
self, when  you  don't  know  any  more  about  us 
than  you  would  if  we  lived  in  the  moon." 

"Why,  Isobel!"  protested  Mother  Brown. 

"It's  God's  truth,"  she  hissed.     "You  make 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     181 

your  rules  and  then  you  bow  down  and  worship 
'em,  and  you  leave  out  nineteen  out  of  every 
twenty  you  meet  on  the  street." 

"But  the  law  was  made  by  God.  A  woman 
cannot — " 

"Don't  you  say  it;  I  know  all  about  it  and 
you  don't  know  anything1/'  she  waved  her  hand, 
contemptuously.  "I've  heard  it  till  it  makes  me 
sick.  That'll  go  down  the  throats  of  your  pious 
folks,  but  it  don't  go  here,  I'll  tell  you  that. 
You  let  me  take  you  down  some  night  to  the 
corner  of  Bridge  and  Main,  and  let  me  tell  you 
about  the  crowd  that  goes  by  there  in  two 
hours." 

"Nevertheless,  there  are  certain  iron  laws — " 

"Aw-w,  rats!" 

"But,  sister—" 

"You  tell  me  what  you  know  about  how  a 
working-girl  lives  in  this  city — you  tell  me  that. 
You  go  and  work  awhile.  You  can  damn  us 
glib  enough  now,  but  what  do  you  know  about 
it?  Nothing.  My  God,  it  makes  me  sick  to 
my  stomach." 

"Please  don't,  Isobel,"  pleaded  the  old  voice. 

"But  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,"  she 
went  on,  shrilly.  "You  can't  tell  me.  I've 
been  through  it  and  I  know.  The  girl  that 
earns  her  own  board  and  clothes  in  this  city 


182          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

has  got  to  be  a  machine.  She  can't  stop  and 
she  can't  have  a  thing  that's  decent,  and  she's 
got  to  go  on  working  till  she  drops  dead.  And, 
my  God,  if  she's  got  a  single  grain  of  spirit  in 
her,  she's  going  to  sell  her  soul  out  of  her  to 
live — to  live — I  mean  to  live.  And  are  you 
going  to  blame  her?  Good  God!  I  wish  you 
could  take  her  place  for  just  one  week;  I'd  like 
to  hear  you  preach  when  it  came  Sunday. 
Don't  she  see  money  all  around  her,  every  step 
she  takes — folks  just  wallowing  in  it — every- 
thing that  is  bright  and  pretty  and  glorious — 
life,  life,  life,  every  step  she  takes,  and  she'd 
die  if  she  could  only  be  in  it  one  day,  and  she's 
bound  hand  and  foot  like  a  nigger  slave.  My 
God!  Do  you  blame  her  for  taking  the  only 
way  there  is?  Do  you  blame  her?"  She 
leaned  over  and  glared  at  him.  "You  let  me 
tell  you  one  thing."  She  hissed  the  words 
through  her  teeth.  "I'd  do  it  again.  You 
think  I'm  sorry?  Well,  I  ain't." 

"Why,  Isobel!"  gasped  Mother  Brown. 

"Oh,  I  ain't  your  soft,  repenting  kind,  don't 
you  forget  that.  My  God!  How  little  you 
know  about  it,  and  you  can't  and  you  never  can 
and  you  set  there  like  God  Almighty  and  make 
rules — oh,  it  makes  me  laugh !"  she  sank  back, 
laughing  hysterically. 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     183 

Mother  Brown  looked  over  at  the  pastor, 
almost  pleadingly.  Clearly  she  was  at  her  wits' 
end.  She  had  done  her  best  before  the  pastor 
had  arrived.  Gait  was  still  looking  into  the 
distance,  absorbedly. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  sister,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  that  caused  the  girl  to  look  up 
at  him  quickly.  "Did  not  Christ  know — " 

"Oh,  rats !  Christ,  Christ — all  you  know  is 
just  Christ !  What  do  girls  who  work  for  fifty 
cents  a  day  and  board  and  clothe  and  room 
themselves  out  of  it  get  out  of  your  Christ? 
They  didn't  make  themselves?  They  didn't 
say  where  they  should  be  born?  They  didn't 
make  the  world?  They  just  go  where  they 
must,  that's  all,  and  who  is  there  to  blame?" 

"Nevertheless  the  only  remedy  lies  right  in 
Jesus  Christ."  There  was  an  unusual  ring  in 
his  voice.  It  was  seldom  that  he  had  been  so 

• 

stirred. 

"Pshaw !  If  you're  going  to  talk  to  me,  talk 
sense,  for  God's  sake,"  she  sneered.  "All  I 
know  about  is  just  live  men  and  women ;  if  you 
can't  say  anything  but  just  'Christ,  Christ, 
Christ,'  like  a  poll  parrot,  then  don't  talk." 

"But  Jesus  Christ  is  the  most  living  thing 
there  is  in  this  world  to-day.  You  can  see  Him 
this  moment,  right  here.  For  you  Mother 


184          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Brown  here  is  Christ  and  I  am  Christ.  It  is 
just  as  I  told  you,  He  is  walking  in  the  flesh 
up  and  down  the  world  this  moment,  and  in 
your  need  He  has  come  to  you.  Why  do  we 
come  to  you  when  your  world  has  deserted  you? 
Why  has  Mother  Brown  here  given  herself, 
night  and  day,  to  help  you?  She  gets  no 
money  for  it.  I  wasn't  obliged  to  come  down 
here  this  morning  to  see  you.  Why  do  we  do 
it  ?  It  is  because  of  the  Christ  love.  We  love 
you  and  we  want  to  help  you." 

For  some  reason  the  girl  did  not  answer. 
The  rebellion  was  fading  out  of  her  face.  She 
was  looking  him  full  in  the  eyes. 

''Don't  think  we  are  judging  you,"  he  went 
on,  bending  toward  her  in  his  earnestness. 
"We  are  not  laying  down  new  and  harsh  rules 
for  you.  We  do  not  condemn  you;  we  do  not 
chide  you  for  your  past.  We  are  trying  to  help 
you — your  real  self.  The  future  is  all  before 
all  of  us ;  you  still  have  it.  We  want  you  to  be 
true  to  the  best  that  is  in  you." 

The  soul  of  the  man  was  in  his  voice  and  his 
eyes.  In  his  eagerness  to  bring  light  to  this 
darkened  and  desolate  soul,  he  was  almost  like 
a  lover,  pleading  and  wooing.  There  was  no 
sign  now  of  anger  in  her  face.  A  rosy  flush 
was  creeping  into  the  marble  of  her  cheek. 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     185 

"There  is  a  life  a  thousand  times  more  beau- 
tiful and  satisfying  than  any  you  have  ever 
seen  or  even  dreamed  about.  We  don't  condemn 
the  beautiful  things ;  we  love  them.  We  want 
the  young  people  to  get  from  life  just  all  of  the 
pure  enjoyment  they  can.  Christ  did  not  con- 
demn the  happy  things:  He  condemned  only 
sin.  We  want  you  to  be  happy  first  of  all. 
Don't  you  believe  this  ?  Don't  you  accept  what 
I  have  said?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  looking  him  full  in 
the  eyes. 

"And  you  will  pray  to  know  what  to  do? 
And  you'll  have  Mother  Brown  teach  you  to 
pray?"  he  asked,  intensely. 

"Yes." 

"My  little  Testament — you'll  read  it,  those 
chapters  I  marked?  Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"Thank  God!"  He  turned  with  beaming 
face  to  Mother  Brown.  "You  must  lead  her; 
you  must  help  her,"  he  said.  "There  is  dark- 
ness ahead,  but  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
cleanseth  from  all  sin.  Thank  God !"  A  feel- 
ing of  elation  filled  him.  He  had  won.  He 
had  never  seen  that  look  save  on  the  faces  of 
those  just  come  into  the  light  of  God. 

There  was  an  awkward  moment.     The  girl 


186          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

with  round  eyes  was  still  looking  at  him,  with 
a  look  of  half  wonder  and  half  of  worship.  A 
moment,  and  then,  with  a  woman's  instinct, 
Mother  Brown  had  an  impulse  to  change  the 
subject. 

"Look  at  the  little  sparrow,"  she  cried.  "He 
is  right  on  the  window,  looking  in.  Just  see 
the  little  rogue  and  hear  him  splutter.  He  is 
saying,  'Good  morning,  where  are  those 
crumbs  ?' ' 

She  disappeared  for  a  moment,  then  brought 
a  crust  of  bread  which  she  threw  out  of  the 
door.  Then  she  pushed  the  chair  up  to  the  win- 
dow that  the  girl  might  see  the  little  flock  as 
they  bustled  and  chattered  over  their  breakfast. 

"Now,  most  people  don't  like  the  little  spar- 
rows," she  went  on  cheerily,  "and  call  'em 
nuisances,  but  I  don't.  I  just  stand  up  for  'em. 
They  live  right  here  all  the  cold  winter,  and  in 
the  city,  too.  We  wouldn't  see  any  birds  at  all 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  little  chippies." 

She  seated  herself  again  in  the  armchair,  and 
began  upon  some  knitting  which  she  took  from 
the  table.  She  was  a  thin,  sprightly  little 
woman  of  sixty,  with  wavy,  grayish  hair  that 
had  once  been  red,  and  with  large  gray  eyes 
behind  iron-bowed  spectacles.  Hers  had  been 
a  hard,  sad  life,  but  she  was  not  bitter  or  melan- 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     187 

choly.  She  looked  like  one  who  has  found  safe 
harbor  for  a  time  after  many  storms,  and  who 
looks  forward  with  serenity  to  one  more  voyage, 
and  then  to  the  long  home. 

"I  fear  I  have  tired  you."  The  pastor  arose 
as  if  to  go.  "I  have  excited  you.  I  have  stayed 
too  long." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  Don't  go — yet.  I'm  not  the 
least  bit  tired,  really."  The  flush  in  her  cheeks 
heightened;  her  eyes  were  feverishly  brilliant. 
"When  you  go,  we  shall  be  all  alone  again  and 
there  won't  be  a  living  thing  here  for  weeks 
and  weeks.  And  it's  so  beautiful  outside. — - 
Oh,  I  must  go  out.  I  know  I'm  well  enough 
to  ride.  Oh,  I  know  if  I  could  get  just  one 
breath  of  air  I  should  be  well — perfectly  well. 
It's  just  like  summer  out.  Can't  we  go  now?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  not  well  enough  yet," 
he  said,  humoringly. 

"Then,  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  well  enough 
to-morrow." 

"When  the  doctor  says  you  can  go  I  will 
send  you  a  buggy  to  take  you  way  out  into  the 
country,"  he  said,  as  if  to  a  sick  child. 

"But,  I  want  you  to  go;  I  want  you  to  talk 
to  me.  You  will,  won't  you,  Friday?" 

"The  doctor—" 

"Oh,  the  doctor  doesn't  know  anything  about 


i88          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

it.  But  when  I'm  well  enough  you'll  take  me, 
won't  you?" 

"Why,  yes — when  you  are  well  enough." 

"It'll  be  two  weeks,  little  girl,"  Mother 
Brown  broke  in,  warningly,  "before  it  will  be 
safe  for  you  to  ride  out — at  least  two  weeks." 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  stormed. 

"  Good-by."  The  pastor  took  her  hand  a 
moment,  and  then  turned  abruptly.  "I'll 
come  again  soon  and  see  how  you  are  getting 
along." 

"Good-by." 

He  was  in  the  hall,  but  something  in  the  tone 
made  him  turn.  She  was  sitting  erect,  free  of 
the  cushions,  her  hair  a  marvellous  halo  about 
her  face  and  neck,  a  dainty  kimono,  low  at  the 
throat,  clinging  to  the  curves  of  her  lithe  body. 
Her  cheeks  were  burning  with  color  and  even 
her  forehead  and  neck. 

"No,  no,  you  must  not  exert  yourself,"  he 
cried,  alarmed  at  her  appearance.  "You  have 
overdone — you  are  ill." 

"I'm  not  sick — I'm  well  again,  I'm  well. 
See!"  She  threw  out  her  arms,  joyously,  as  if 
they  had  been  loosed  of  fetters.  "Really,  I 
could  run  with  you  up  the  street.  I  have  a 
mind  to  this  minute.  Oh,  won't  you  take  me  ?" 
For  a  wild  instant  she  held  up  her  arms  to  him 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     189 

like  a  child,  and  there  was  entreaty  in  every  line 
and  feature.  For  a  single  instant — then  she 
fell  back  among  the  pillows. 

"No,  no,"  she  laughed,  as  if  it  were  a  scene 
of  a  play.  "I  must  wait ;  but,  Mr.  Gait,  you'll 
come  and  take  me  to  ride  when  the  doctor  says 
I  may  go  ?  It  would  do  me  so  much  good,  and 
there  are  so  many  things  I  must  ask  you  about. 
You  will,  won't  you?" 

''Yes,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"I'll  get  well  fast — I'll  be  well  to-morrow. 
Good-by,  good-by."  She  waved  her  hand  at 
him  gaily,  and  as  he  looked  back  from  the  street 
he  saw  her  through  the  window  still  waving  at 
him.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled  at  her  as 
to  a  child  that  must  be  humored.  Yes,  he 
would  take  her  to  a  ride  just  as  soon  as  it  was 
prudent.  She  needed  to  be  instructed  and  led 
in  the  life  that  was  before  her.  It  would  re- 
quire all  the  skill  of  which  he  was  master  to 
direct  this  new  soul  and  to  discipline  and  subdue 
her.  But  he  had  made  the  first  great  step  and 
the  rest  was  as  nothing  to  that.  As  he  went 
along  the  spring  streets  his  heart  sang  aloud 
with  joy.  The  world  was  good. 

In  reality  the  man  was  as  much  an  extreme 
as  even  the  girl.  In  life  and  ideals  he  was  a 
Puritan  born  out  of  time.  He  had  schooled 


190          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

himself  until  the  world  seemed  not  a  thing  to 
be  enjoyed  or  even  valued;  it  was  a  thing  to  be 
saved.  Everything  that  did  not  tend  toward 
evangelization  and  the  redeeming  of  sinful  men 
was  to  him  of  secondary  value.  On  the  walls 
of  his  study  in  large  letters,  so  that  his  eyes 
might  fall  upon  it  hour  by  hour,  was  Paul's 
text:  "I  determined  not  to  know  anything 
among  you,  save  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  cruci- 
fied." 

With  his  tremendous  convictions  and  his 
absorption  in  his  work,  he  had  been  almost 
unconscious  of  the  other  side  of  his  nature. 
He  had  thrust  it  down ;  he  had  banished  it  from 
his  consciousness;  he  had  "crucified  it."  And 
yet  nature  had  not  formed  him  for  an  ascetic. 
She  had  made  him  in  generous  mold.  He  was 
broad-shouldered  and  manly;  he  looked  one 
squarely  in  the  eyes  with  the  subtle  force  that 
penetrates  the  soul.  Guile  and  uncleanness 
dropped  its  eyes  before  that  pure  gaze.  There 
was  a  magnetism  about  the  man  that  drew  with 
subtle  power,  especially  the  feminine  element  of 
his  church.  They  obeyed  him  without  ques- 
tion; they  gathered  in  full  strength  at  his  call; 
and  they  made  up  ever  the  bulk  of  his  audience. 
It  was  only  the  innocence  of  the  man,  his  lack 
of  training  on  the  worldly  side,  his  rapt  single- 


DAUGHTERS  OF  NECESSITY     191 

ness  of  heart  that  had  blinded  him  to  the  true 
reason  for  this  zeal. 

And  thus  it  had  been  in  his  contact  with 
Isobel  Carniston.  He  was  totally  unmoved  by 
her.  There  was  something  about  the  girl  that 
instinctively  repelled  him,  something  that  jarred 
ever  like  a  discord  upon  his  sensitive  soul. 
Temptation  to  assail  him  strongly  must  come 
from  his  strongest  side — from  the  intellectual 
and  the  spiritual. 

But  not  so  with  Isobel  Carniston. 

All  unconsciously  the  pastor  had  set  free  in 
her  wild  heart  a  torrent  that  was  tropic  in  its 
rush  and  power.  Had  he  touched  life  more 
closely,  had  he  been  less  pure  of  heart  and  more 
worldly-wise,  he  would  have  seen,  but  as  it  was 
he  went  on  in  all  honesty  to  save  the  girl's  soul. 

And  the  girl  had  no  soul. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    SOUL   AND    THE   UNSOUL 

ON  Thursday  afternoon  Dick  came  again 
to  the  pastor's  room,  this  time  with  the 
amazing  announcement  that  he  had  joined  the 
Thost  circle  to  hear  the  whole  course  of  lectures. 

"And  you  are  going  with  me,  Johnny,"  he 
added.  "I've  made  all  the  arrangements.  I 
have  got  to  have  you  for  chaperone.  It's  im- 
perative." 

"A  good  idea,"  Gait  said,  dryly.  This  was 
one  of  Dick's  jokes.  He  knew  the  man,  and 
had  heard  him  talk  of  Helda  Thost  and  of 
esoteric  women. 

"But,  Johnny,  I  mean  it." 

"First  stage  of  Bostonitis,  I  suppose.  Got 
enough  Browning  to  get  in  without  entrance 
conditions  ?" 

"Laugh  away,  Johnny,  but  I've  joined  'em, 
just  the  same,  and  I'm  going  to  see  it  through. 
And  you  are  going  along  with  me." 

"Are  you  really  honest,  Dick?" 

"Hope  to  die." 

192 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  193 

Dick  did  mean  it.  As  the  pastor  looked  him 
in  the  eyes,  his  mirth  changed  to  astonishment. 
Dick,  of  all  men,  an  attendant  upon  a  course 
of  religious  lectures  for  women!  What  had 
happened?  Perhaps  he  wished  to  study  for 
professional  reasons  this  phase  of  modern  life. 
And  yet  what  possible  connection  could  there 
be  between  law  and  this  occult  circle  ?  Perhaps 
he  was  doing  it  in  some  way  for  the  sake  of 
his  sister — that  was  the  way  Gait  had  accounted 
for  his  interest  thus  far,  but  to  join  the  select 
inner  circle  and  to  take  the  whole  course! 
There  was  a  deeper  reason.  Perhaps  it  was 
an  impulse  of  the  moment;  he  would  break  the 
monotony  of  his  professional  life  by  exploring 
this  utterly  new  field.  That  was  possible:  he 
was  always  doing  the  unexpected.  Then  there 
was  the  woman  to  be  considered.  Dick  himself 
had  once  said  that  the  first  axiom  in  the  law 
is  this :  ''When  utterly  at  a  loss  to  explain  the 
conduct  of  a  man,  look  for  a  woman."  Ridicu- 
lous !  She  was  not  Dick's  type  at  all.  She 
was  that  purely  intellectual  type  that  so  easily 
slips  into  occultism  and  mysticism,  the  type  that 
is  as  free  from  sensibility  and  sentimentalism  as 
a  diamond.  Dick  would  be  attracted  by  a  big, 
vital,  healthful  woman,  splendidly  strong  and 
beautiful  and  bubbling  over  with  laughter 


194          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  physical  life — an  Isobel  Carniston,  refined 
and  redeemed.  Dick  had  a  vein  of  sentiment, 
the  pastor  knew  that.  Deep  down  there  was 
in  the  man  a  hunger  for  the  beautiful  and  the 
deep  things  of  life,  a  hunger  that  not  one  of  the 
world  in  which  he  moved  even  suspected  in 
him.  Only  Gait  knew  that.  And  this  woman 
who  had  seemed  to  sacrifice  heart  to  brain 
would  never  do  at  all.  Dick  might  as  well  fall 
in  love  with  an  abstraction.  But  had  the 
woman  sacrificed  heart  to  brain?  Mere  intel- 
lect would  not  have  taken  her  that  day  to  the 
tenements.  How  tender  she  had  been  and  how 
full  of  pity.  He  could  see  her  now  as  she  bent 
over  the  neglected  child,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
He  had  forgotten  Dick.  As  they  took  their 
car  and  later  as  they  walked  up  Summer  Street 
to  their  appointment,  his  mind  was  full  of  this 
woman.  Dick's  elaborate  reasons  for  joining 
the  group  he  did  not  hear  at  all ;  he  was  trying 
to  explain  Helda  Thost  and  the  subtle  power 
that  could  compel  a  man  like  Dick.  What 
would  be  the  outcome  ?  What  if  he  should  fall 
in  love  with  her?  What  would  be  the  effect 
upon  the  man  when  he  awoke  to  find,  as  he 
must  find,  that  she  was  as  cold  and  unattainable 
as  a  vision  ?  For  it  was  inconceivable  that  this 
woman,  all  intellect  and  soul,  should  ever  think 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  195 

of  Dick  or  anyone  else  in  the  light  of  marriage. 
Would  it  embitter  him  and  make  him  reckless, 
or  would  it  chasten  him  and  bring  him  to  a 
realization  of  the  deeper  things  of  life? 

Again  they  were  in  the  dimness  of  the  Ori- 
ental room,  which  now  seemed  full  of  women 
sitting  with  bare  heads  in  breathless  hush.  It 
was  like  a  group  of  devotees  in  the  act  of  wor- 
ship. Not  a  head  turned  as  the  two  entered. 
Even  Dick  became  solemn  and  still. 

After  a  moment  the  curtains  parted  silently 
and  Helda  Thost,  in  pure  white,  which  made 
her  face  seem  unnaturally  pale  in  the  half  light, 
was  ushered  in  by  Frieda  Paine.  An  audible 
sigh  breathed  up  from  the  room  and  the  silence 
became,  if  possible,  more  intense. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  stood  looking  over 
the  little  group,  a  smile  of  welcome  in  her  eyes, 
and  then  she  began  to  speak  in  a  voice  that  was 
singularly  musical  and  winning.  Gait's  notes, 
as  he  read  them  over  in  his  room  that  evening, 
ran  something  like  this: 

"The  nature  of  the  soul.  The  fable  of 
Undine  based  on  a  fundamental  principle  of 
human  life.  Up  to  a  certain  time  man  has  no 
soul.  The  animal  is  ruled  by  the  unsoul.  The 
body  is  purely  and  utterly  selfish.  It  is  like 
the  leopard  or  the  python,  radiantly  beautiful, 


196          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

it  may  be,  but  wholly  self-centred  and  cruel  as 
death.  In  children  and  in  material  men  there 
is  no  soul.  It  must  awake;  it  must  take  com- 
mand; it  must  become  the  dominant  power. 
Not  all  men  have  souls,  but  all  are  capable  of 
soul.  The  world  is  full  of  those  in  whom  the 
soul  has  never  awakened,  the  fleshly  and  the 
material.  It  is  they  who  cause  the  discord  and 
the  failure  in  our  human  life.  Soul  comes  ever 
from  the  vision  of  the  immaterial;  from  the 
awakening  of  the  love  that  is  deathless;  from 
a  glimpse  over  the  material  into  the  infinite. 
At  the  moment  of  soul-awakening  is  where  all 
tragedy  begins,  for  all  tragedy  is  but  the  strug- 
gle between  soul  and  unsoul.  When  the  soul 
awakes  the  eyes  of  the  life  are  opened  and  for 
the  first  time  it  really  sees.  The  unsoul  sees 
only  the  fleshly  and  the  material.  It  worships 
only  the  god  of  moments.  It  is  conscious  of 
mere  physical  beauty  and  its  love  is  therefore 
evanescent,  for  the  physical  changes  with  every 
moment.  What  it  loved  yesterday  to-day 
does  not  exist  in  earth  or  heaven.  The  love 
that  is  unchanging  sees  only  the  unchanging 
soul.  It  is  a  union  of  souls  and  incidentally 
of  bodies.  It  ends  never  in  disaster  or  di- 
vorce. Sir  Edwin  Arnold  has  most  beauti- 
fully caught  it: 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  197 

'Somewhere  there  waiteth  in  this  world  of  ours 

For  one  lone  soul  another  lonely  soul, 
Each  chasing  each  through  all  the  weary  hours, 

And  meeting  strangely  at  some  sudden  goal, 
Then  blend  they,  like  green  leaves  with  golden  flow- 
ers, 

Into  one  beautiful  and  perfect  whole. 
And  life's  long  night  is  ended,  and  the  way  lies  open 
onward  to  eternal  day.' 

The  very  soul  of  the  East  is  in  that;  the  very 
essence  of  the  life  of  the  spirit.  But  the  love 
of  the  unsoul  cries  with  the  old  poet, 

'Oh  wally,  wally  but  love  be  bonny 
A  little  while  while  it  is  new, 
But— ' 

and  in  that  one  little  word  lies  a  whole  library 
of  tragedy  and  half  of  human  misery.  It  voices 
the  whole  universe  that  lies  between  the  love 
of  the  unsoul  and  the  love  that  is  deathless. 
The  unsoul  cries  selfishly  for  possession.  It 
cries,  'I  love  you,  therefore  I  must  have  you.' 
The  soul  cries  selflessly,  'I  love  you  enough,  if 
need  be,  not  to  marry  you/ 

"The  Oriental  view  of  the  soul.  The  Over- 
soul.  Divided  souls  that  seek  each  other 
through  successive  incarnations.  The  power 
of  souls.  Were  the  soul  completely  in  com- 
mand, our  world  would  be  a  power-house  of 


198          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

which  we  have  no  conception.  That  mysteri- 
ous force  that  we  call  by  various  names — 
telepathy,  hypnotism,  spiritism,  and  the  like — is 
but  the  play  of  active  soul  upon  active  soul. 
When  we  know  more  about  this  subtle  force  we 
shall  revise  all  our  creeds.  There  is  a  wireless 
power  that  surpasses  Marconi  as  the  airship 
surpasses  the  barrow.  The  next  science  is  the 
science  of  the  human  soul.  We  have  at  our 
command  forces  more  active  than  radium. 
What  we  call  fate  and  destiny  are  but  the  play 
upon  us  of  active  souls.  Wireless  messages 
are  striking  us  at  every  angle,  but  we  read  them 
not.  Souls  akin  to  ours  are  signalling  us,  but 
we  heed  them  not.  The  secret  of  the  universe 
is  signalled  us  from  a  thousand  viewless  points, 
but  our  souls  are  out  of  tune. 

"The  life  of  the  soul.  The  cultivation  of  the 
soul.  Messages  between  the  soul  and  the  Over- 
soul.  Absorption  into  the  Oversoul  and  the 
glories  of  the  complete  soul  with  the  unsoul 
forever  lost." 

Gait's  notes  became  more  and  more  fragmen- 
tary and  ceased.  Her  presence  seemed  to  dom- 
inate the  room  until  all  else  was  forgotten. 
When  at  last  she  ceased  speaking  it  surprised 
him.  He  felt  like  crying  out,  "Don't  stop ;  go 
on,  go  on."  Her  words  had  somehow  the  ring 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  199 

of  an  inspired  message ;  and  yet,  as  he  thought 
of  it  afterwards,  there  was  nothing  really 
remarkable  about  them.  It  must  have  been  the 
rapt  intenseness  of  her  manner,  the  clearness 
of  her  thought,  and  the  subtle  music  of  her 
voice  that  had  produced  the  effect.  He  did  not 
arise  with  the  others,  but  sat  trying  to  think 
it  out  while  they  pressed  about  her  with  ques- 
tions and  little  exclamations  and  congratula- 
tions. A  voice  at  his  elbow  made  him  start. 

"Mr.  Gait,  I  am  very  glad  you  came  in  with 
us.  It  was  really  inspiring,  was  it  not?" 

It  was  Miss  Farrand  of  his  own  congrega- 
tion. 

"Yes,  it  was  interesting."  He  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  took  her  hand.  "I  came  in,  you 
know,  out  of  curiosity,"  he  added,  "with  my 
friend — ah,  Miss  Farrand,  let  me  present  my 
friend,  Mr.  Paine." 

Dick  repeated  the  usual  formulae,  and  then, 
before  the  pastor  could  say  more,  he  burst  out 
with,  "Mr.  Gait  and  I  have  decided  to  take  the 
whole  course. .  We  have  made  all  the  arrange- 
ments." 

"No,  no,  I  have  not  said  that." 

"Mademoiselle  Thost  will  be  very  glad  to 
have  you  come,  I  am  sure,"  the  woman  an- 
swered, graciously.  "Miss  Hanson" — she 


200          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

turned  to  a  stately  dame  behind  her,  a  woman 
with  wavy  iron-gray  hair  and  prominent  spec- 
tacles— "I  wish  you  to  meet  the  new  members 
of  our  circle,  The  Reverend  Mr.  Gait,  and  Mr. 
Paine.  Mr.  Gait  is  a  deep  student  of  all  phases 
of  religious  thought,"  she  added.  The  woman 
bowed  with  dignity. 

Then  one  by  one  Miss  Farrand  introduced 
the  whole  circle  to  Gait  and  then  to  Dick, — 
"the  new  recruits"  she  called  them.  Two  she 
did  not  have  to  introduce — Miss  Janes  and 
Miss  Bacon,  wanderers  from  his  own  flock 
who  were  visibly  ill  at  ease  as  if  he  might  be 
there  to  rebuke  them  and  to  lead  them  back 
home. 

"You  have  met  Mademoiselle  Thost,  I 
know,"  Miss  Farrand  went  on,  sweetly. 
"Surely  you  will  speak  with  her  a  moment  be- 
fore you  go?" 

"Most  certainly." 

But  Miss  Thost  was  coming  to  them. 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing up  at  the  pastor  graciously.  "You  helped 
me.  I  felt  that  you  understood." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  did,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"We've  joined  the  circle,"  announced  Dick. 
"I've  made  all  the  arrangements  with  Freddie. 
We're  coming  to  all  the  lectures." 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  201 

"No,  no.  I'm  not  sure  of  that."  Gait  shook 
his  head  doubtfully. 

"I  shall  be  glad  if  you  can,"  she  said,  simply. 
"I  feel  your  sympathy,  Mr.  Gait." 

"It's  an  inspiration  to  us  all,  I'm  sure,"  Miss 
Farrand  added  sweetly. 

"Yes,  to  us  all,"  they  chorused. 

Later  as  he  sat  in  his  room  over  the  Abana 
and  Pharphar  sermon  he  felt  that  had  he  been 
honest  he  would  have  confessed  in  turn  as  much 
to  her  as  she  had  confessed  to  him.  His 
mental  vision  of  her,  her  sensitive  face,  that 
lighted  so  wondrously,  looking  up  at  him  from 
the  pastor's  pew,  urged  him  indeed  to  his  very 
best.  His  own  people,  his  church, — he  saw 
nothing  but  her;  every  thought,  every  division 
of  his  sermon  he  tested  only  as  to  its  effect  upon 
her. 

And  on  Sunday  morning  he  was  full  of 
eagerness  to  begin.  She  was  there  as  he  had 
pictured  her;  she  would  understand  him;  she 
would  respond  as  one  sensitive  soul  responds 
to  another.  And  as  a  result  he  preached  with 
a  power  that  filled  his  audience  with  wonder. 
Mr.  Bailey,  a  clear-headed  business  man  whose 
thoughts  six  days  in  the  week  were  wholly  upon 
mortgages  and  deeds,  was  greatly  impressed 
by  it. 


202          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Mr.  Gait  is  improving,"  he  said  to  his  wife 
as  they  walked  home  after  the  service.  "City 
life  is  brightening  him  up." 

"Something  seems  to  be." 

"There  wasn't  a  more  brilliant  sermon 
preached  to-day  even  in  Boston,"  he  went  on. 
"And  the  theme  was  a  mighty  timely  and  prac- 
tical one." 

"I  should  say  so,"  she  sniffed. 

"There  is  altogether  too  much  Christian  Sci- 
ence going  on,  and  divine  healing,  and  that  sort 
of  stuff." 

"Theosophy,  for  instance." 

"Yes,  Theosophy  and  all  the  other  'osophies.' 
I  like  to  hear  a  preacher  throw  things  back 
upon  the  old  foundations  with  conviction  the 
way  he  did  this  morning.  It's  good ;  it's  what 
we  need." 

"Perhaps  it  is  what  he  needs,"  she  insinuated. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Perhaps  he  was  trying  to  soothe  his  con- 
science," she  suggested. 

"His  conscience?" 

"Did  you  see  that  little  woman  in  black  in 
the  pastor's  pew?" 

"Rather  foreign-looking?" 

"Yes.  That's  the  celebrated  Mademoiselle 
Thost  who  has  founded  circles  of  adepts  in  all 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  203 

the  larger  cities.  She  is  establishing  a  circle 
here." 

"Well,  she  got  in  wrong  this  morning,  all 
right.  That  was  certainly  hot  shot  for  her. 
The  pastor  couldn't  have  hit  it  better  if  he  had 
known." 

"He  did  know." 

"Ah,  got  a  tip  and  loaded  up?" 

"She  was  here  last  Sunday  and  you'll  remem- 
ber he  preached  the  same  kind  of  sermon, — just 
as  if  she  were  the  only  one  in  the  audience.  I 
spoke  to  him  about  her  and  he  said  after  he  had 
thought  a  moment  that  he  did  remember  seeing 
such  a  woman  in  the  audience,  but  he  implied 
that  he  had  never  heard  of  her  before.  I  told 
him  how  dangerous  she  was  and  how  she  was 
getting  hold  of  our  young  ladies  and  how  he 
must  lead  the  church  in  fighting  her  in  every 
possible  way,  and  he  seemed  to  agree  in  every 
word  I  said.  And  it  comes  out  that  he  was  in- 
timately acquainted  with  her.  The  sister  of  his 
closest  friend  here  in  town  is  her  assistant  and 
has  been  for  years.  He  had  been  out  riding 
with  the  woman  all  alone  just  the  day  before 
I  spoke  with  him,  and  he  had  been  with  her  at 
private  dinners,  and  had  called  on  her  at  her 
rooms,  and  he  deliberately  led  me  to  infer  that 
he  had  never  even  heard  of  her." 


204          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Perhaps  he  is  trying  to  convert  her." 

"Huh!"  she  sniffed.  "Let  me  tell  you  an- 
other thing.  He  has  just  become  one  of  her 
adepts  or  devotees  or  whatever  they  call  them, 
and  is  to  attend  all  of  her  lectures.  I  know  it 
positively.  He  met  with  the  circle  Thursday 
and  she  told  him  that  his  presence  always  in- 
spired her,  that  she  felt  his  sympathy,  and  knew 
that  he  understood.  And  he  said  yes,  he  under- 
stood." 

"He  appears  to  be  still  fairly  orthodox  if  you 
judge  him  from  his  sermon.  No  trace  of  wa- 
vering there.  It  seems  to  have  been  framed  to 
demolish  her." 

"That  sermon  was  preached  to  his  own  con- 
science. Do  you  suppose  a  woman  like  that  is 
going  to  be  converted  or  even  convinced  by 
preaching?  He  is  the  one  who  will  move. 
When  a  woman  of  that  kind  really  tries  to  win 
over  a  man  of  his  type  she  does  it  every  time." 

"Pshaw !  You  can't  make  me  believe  that  in 
the  face  of  that  sermon!"  He  was  not  easily 
led.  His  wife  was  always  making  such  discov- 
eries and  he  had  grown  cautious. 

"You  wait  and  see,  that's  all."  She  had  re- 
torted with  a  woman's  last  argument.  "One 
thing  you  will  have  to  admit:  the  influence  on 
our  church  is  most  damaging.  Three  of  our 


THE  SOUL  AND  THE  UNSOUL  205 

own  girls  were  there  Thursday  and  when  they 
found  their  pastor  a  member  of  the  same  circle 
naturally  their  little  consciences  ceased  at  once 
to  trouble  them.  Before  ten  days  she  will  have 
a  dozen  of  our  girls,  if  not  twenty.  And  think 
of  what  people  will  say:  the  pastor  of  the  old 
North  Street  Church  a  convert  to  Theosophy 
and  a  leader  of  his  own  church  members  into 
the  cult." 

"I  don't  believe  it  will  ever  come  to  that." 
Mr.  Bailey  snapped  his  head  vigorously. 
"After  that  sermon  you  can't  convince  me  that 
the  pastor  isn't  as  firmly  set  in  his  Christianity 
as  any  man  that  is  preaching  to-day.  What  he 
has  done  is  simply  to  make  a  study  of  this  thing 
from  the  inside  in  order  to  get  weapons  with 
which  to  fight  it.  Perhaps  it  isn't  tactful  or 
conventional,  but  it's  business.  Don't  you 
worry  one  bit  about  the  pastor." 

"Well,  you  just  wait  and  see." 

And  with  this  Parthian  arrow  she  changed 
the  subject. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    FIRES   OF    SPRING 

IT  was  ten  days  before  Gait  called  at  Mother 
Brown's.  He  had  fully  intended  to  call 
often,  but  somehow  there  had  been  no  time. 
He  was  working  harder  than  usual.  His  at- 
tendance upon  the  Thost  lectures  was  in  reality 
troubling  him,  and,  though  he  did  not  realize 
it,  he  was  trying  to  ease  his  conscience  by 
throwing  himself  with  unusual  earnestness  into 
the  church  work.  And  there  was  certainly 
enough  of  it  to  throw  himself  into.  He  began 
a  series  of  calls  on  members  in  the  outlying 
districts,  a  much  needed  duty  that  he  had  long 
had  in  mind,  but  one  that  made  great  demands 
upon  his  time.  Then  there  were  the  clubs  and 
the  committees  and  the  Bible  class  and  the  em- 
ployment bureau  to  put  into  working  order, — 
they  had  been  going  heavily  of  late, — and  for 
the  odds  and  ends  of  his  time  he  had  planned 
another  elaborate  sermon  for  Miss  Thost,  who 
promised  to  become  a  regular  attendant.  It 

was  more  than  one  man's  work  just  to  keep  the 

206 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         207 

machinery  in  movement,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
intellectual  and  the  spiritual. 

It  was  a  morning  in  April  when  it  came  over 
him  that  he  had  neglected  Isobel  Carniston. 
He  had  arisen  at  sunrise  and  had  looked  out 
over  the  glowing  east.  It  was  as  warm  as 
summer.  The  thrill  of  awakened  life  was  in 
the  air.  Warm  odors  were  breathing  up  from 
moist  earth  and  were  filling  every  living  thing 
with  longings  and  vague  unrest.  Impulsively 
he  dressed  himself  and  hastened  out  into  the 
soft  air.  It  was  intoxicating;  it  thrilled  and 
sang  in  his  blood.  He  would  take  a  walk  out 
into  the  farthest  suburbs ;  he  would  be  gone  the 
whole  forenoon.  It  was  spring.  But  before 
he  had  fairly  reached  the  end  of  the  street  there 
flashed  upon  him  the  thought  of  that  other  day. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  were  again  that  morning 
when  last  he  had  seen  her,  that  morning  when 
he  had  felt  for  the  first  time  that  she  had  a  soul 
and  that  he  had  touched  it.  How  childishly 
eager  she  had  been  when  she  had  told  him  she 
needed  him  to  guide  her  in  what  she  was  to  do, 
and  how  pathetically  she  had  said  she  could 
hardly  wait  until  he  took  her  where  she 
could  see  the  fresh  country  again  and  breathe 
the  air  over  the  green  fields.  What  had  hap- 
pened since  then  ?  Perhaps  she  had  found  her 


208          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

strength  again  and  had  fled  back  into  her  old 
life.  What  had  there  been  to  prevent  ?  What 
had  he  done  to  help  her  into  the  new  life  that 
she  must  now  enter?  W7hat  was  to  be  that 
life? 

He  stopped  short.  He  had  neglected  his 
plain  duty.  He  had  been  so  busy  with  the 
merely  executive  work  of  his  church  that  he 
had  forgotten  this  soul  that  God  had  put  into 
his  keeping.  As  if  someone  had  called  to  him, 
he  turned  sharp  about  and  walked  back  to  the 
hotel  as  briskly  indeed  as  he  had  walked  from 
it  a  moment  before.  He  would  speak  to 
Mother  Brown;  there  was  a  telephone  in  the 
house  beyond  the  Mission  and  they  would  call 
her  in.  In  less  than  five  minutes  he  had  the 
connection. 

"Is  Miss  Carniston  still  at  the  Mission?"  he 
asked  almost  eagerly. 

"Yes." 

"How  is  she?" 

"Very  well.     Oh,  is  that  you,  Mr.  Gait?" 

"Yes." 

"We  have  wondered  why  you  have  not  been 
down,  Mr.  Gait.  We  have  looked  for  you. 
She  is  gaining  steadily,  but  she  is  restless  and 
unsettled.  She  frets  because  you  don't  come 
down.  She  wants  to  talk  with  you,  and  she  is 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         209 

very  eager  to  get  out  into  the  air  and  the  coun- 
try/' 

"Is  she  able  to  ride?" 

"Yes.  And  she  ought  to.  There  is  nothing 
that  would  do  her  so  much  good.  She  is  like  a 
child  about  it." 

"Have  you  made  any  plans  for  her  future?" 

"None  that  is  final.  She  has 'been  waiting 
till  she  could  talk  it  over  with  you." 

"Could  she  ride  this  morning?" 

"Why,  indeed  she  could." 

"At  ten  o'clock?" 

"Why— yes." 

"Then  I  shall  call  for  you  both  at  ten  o'clock." 
*  "No,  no,  I  can't  go.  I  would  like  to,  but  it 
is  impossible.  I  have  work." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Brown."  There  was 
real  regret  in  his  tone.  "Then  we  shall  have 
to  go  alone.  Tell  her  to  be  ready  at  ten. 
Good-bye." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  and  made  arrange- 
ments with  the  clerk  for  an  automobile  and 
chauffeur  at  ten  o'clock.  That  would  be  better 
than  a  horse  and  buggy.  She  would  like  to  go 
out  into  the  country  where  there  were  wood- 
lands and  wild  birds. 

He  decided  not  to  take  his  walk.  He  would 
eat  breakfast  after  all  and  then  he  would  work 


210          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  rest  of  the  time  on  his  sermon.  He  left  the 
dining-room  with  briskness  and  settled  himself 
in  his  study  chair.  It  was  no  use.  The  spring 
was  upon  him.  The  sun  from  the  east  win- 
dows was  in  his  face  as  he  sat  fumbling  with 
his  papers,  and  before  he  realized  it  he  was  on 
his  feet  again  looking  out  over  the  housetops 
into  the  park  trees  and  the  warm  sky.  The 
ride  would  do  him  good,  too.  He  would  go 
out  beyond  the  last  trace  of  the  city  to  where 
they  could  fly  along  the  country  roads  where  the 
pussy-willows  were  in  the  fence  corners  and 
the  hepatica  and  arbutus  were  pushing  up 
through  the  damp  leaves  on  the  hillsides. 

When  at  ten  o'clock  the  car  drew  up  before 
the  Mission  he  was  as  eager  as  a  boy.  He  had 
been  working  harder  than  he  realized,  and  now 
he  was  to  have  a  holiday  along  the  woodsides 
and  by  the  open  fields. 

"Oh,  he's  brought  a  car!"  She  came  run- 
ning out  like  a  child. 

Mother  Brown  bustled  out  after  her  with 
shawls  and  wraps,  but  the  girl  pushed  them 
away  scornfully. 

"The  idea!"  she  cried.  "I'm  not  sick.  I'm 
well;  I'm  perfectly  well."  And  indeed  as  she 
bounded  up  the  step  and  into  the  car  there  was 
upon  her  no  trace  of  any  sickness.  She  looked 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING          211 

gloriously  well, — a  woman  strong  and  ruddy, 
thrilling  with  life  and  radiant  in  the  joy  of  the 
perfect  Now.  Mother  Brown  threw  the  wraps 
into  the  tonneau,  declaring  that  the  weather  was 
deceiving  and  that  she  must  surely  put  them  on, 
and  then  the  car  glided  away,  the  girl  waving 
her  hand  joyously  and  laughing  aloud. 

"You  don't  seem  sick,"  the  pastor  said,  smil- 
ingly. 

"Sick!"  she  cried,  in  scorn.  "I'm  absurdly, 
ridiculously  well.  I  never  am  sick.  I'm  well." 
And  again  she  laughed  with  the  mere  joy  of 
physical  life. 

The  swift  movement  and  the  sense  of  escape 
from  the  dingy  room  into  the  glory  of  the 
spring  morning  brought  out  a  phase  of  the  girl 
that  Gait  had  not  seen  before.  She  was  like  a 
child  on  a  holiday;  he  could  think  of  nothing 
else.  She  looked  into  his  eyes  and  laughed 
aloud;  she  took  off  her  hat  and  let  the  wind 
wanton  in  her  hair ;  and  she  threw  up  her  hands 
and  laughed  again  as  they  swung  about  the 
sharp  turns. 

"Oh,  let's  go  faster,"  she  called. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  get  cold."  There  was  a 
note  of  anxiety  in  his  voice.  "You  have  noth- 
ing on  your  head  or  about  your  throat.  You 
should  have  a  wrap." 


212          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Cold?"  she  cried.  "I  never  got  cold  in  my 
life." 

She  gave  a  toss  of  her  head  to  throw  the 
blowsing  hair  from  her  eyes,  and  again  she 
looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  would  like  to  run  it  a  while  myself!" 
she  burst  out.  "Mayn't  I  ?" 

Gait  did  not  laugh.  For  him  the  beauty  had 
suddenly  left  the  morning.  This  woman  with 
her  unnatural  spirits  troubled  him.  He  forgot 
about  the  springtime  and  the  country  fields. 
He  did  not  answer  her  bubbling  questions  or 
heed  her  at  all.  He  was  wondering. 

And  even  as  he  wondered  her  mood  changed. 
Her  face  became  suddenly  long.  She  moved 
very  close  to  him  and  looked  into  his  eyes  ap- 
pealingly. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  have  been  to  me, 
Mr.  Gait?"  she  said,  impetuously.  "I  didn't 
know  anything,  or  care  for  anything  until  I 
knew  you.  Do  you  know  what  I  should 
have  done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you?  I  mean 
last  week  when  you  didn't  come?  Do  you 
know?" 

"No,"  he  said,  wonderingly. 

"I  should  have  run  away.  I  should  have 
gone  to  Boston." 

"And  what  could  you  do  in  Boston?"  he 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         213 

asked,  more  because  she  had  paused  than  any- 
thing else. 

"Oh,  one  can  always  find  a  place  in  a  chorus 
— somewhere.  I  can  dance — oh,  you  ought  to 
see  me  dance,  Mr.  Gait;  it  would  break  your 
heart/'  She  laughed  at  the  look  in  his  face, 
and  then  with  swift  change  she  added,  "And  I 
can  sing ;  you  never  heard  me  sing.  Some  time 
I'll  sing  for  you — something  you'll  like."  She 
paused  and  cocked  her  head  at  him. 

"It's  no  place  for  a  woman,"  he  burst  out, 
with  emphasis.  "It's  the  wrong  kind  of  life. 
It  leads  to  vanity  and  wrong  standards — " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  go,"  she  said,  archly.  "I 
waited  for  you." 

He  said  nothing. 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  began,  im- 
pulsively, "ever  since  that  morning — you  re- 
member that  morning,  what  you  said  to  me — I 
didn't  care  then.  Now — now  I  care."  She 
had  turned  her  eyes  from  him  and  was  picking 
at  the  fingers  of  her  glove. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak.  He  had 
turned  quickly  and  looked  at  her,  as  if  uncer- 
tain of  her  meaning.  The  look  satisfied  him. 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  softly.  "And  you 
are  sure?" 

"Yes." 


214          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I'm  glad,"  he  said,  awkwardly. 

Again  there  was  silence.  She  did  not  look 
up.  She  was  toying  with  her  glove. 

"And  you'll  help  me,  Mr.  Gait?"  She  spoke 
so  low  that  he  could  hardly  hear  her  above  the 
throbbing  of  the  car. 

"All  that's  in  my  power."  The  words  burst 
from  the  man's  heart. 

"Yes,  but — "  she  stopped. 

"As  I  told  you  that  other  morning,  you  are 
with  friends  now."  In  his  embarrassment  he 
began  automatically  to  preach.  There  was 
feeling  in  his  voice.  "With  Christ's  help  we 
are  going  to  make  of  your  life  what  He  meant 
it  to  be, — beautiful,  and  helpful,  and  happy. 
You  are  among  friends,  real  friends,  now,  who 
will  help  you  at  every  point." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Mr.  Gait  ?"  she 
asked,  slowly. 

The  tone  in  her  voice  caused  him  again  to 
turn.  There  was  that  in  her  face  that  satisfied 
him  now.  This  indeed  was  the  penitent  Mag- 
dalen, her  shame  written  in  her  cheeks  and  in 
her  downcast  eyes  and  in  her  trembling  voice. 

"Service ;  you  must  have  service.  You  must 
work;  you  want  to  work.  There  is  no  haste 
just  yet.  The  way  will  open  when  all  is  ready. 
You  can  trust  me  and  Mother  Brown." 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         215 

"Will  it  be  perhaps  with  you?"  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  tremulous  eagerness.  "Isn't 
there  a  place — " 

"We  can't  tell  now;  the  way  will  open,"  he 
broke  in,  gently.  "I  think  it  best  for  you  to 
remain  for  a  time  with  Mother  Brown  and  let 
her  direct  you  and  teach  you.  She  has  her 
work  and  you  can  help  her." 

"It's  a  regular  old  prison  there,"  she  burst 
out  impulsively.  "I  can't  stand  it;  I'll  die. 
I've  been  there  a  thousand  years  now.  I  won't 

go-" 

"Yes,  you  will  go,"  he  said,  with  patience  in 
his  voice.  "I  want  you  to  go.  I  want  her  to 
teach  you.  I  want  you  to  learn  nursing,  and 
rescue  work  in  the  slums.  Oh,  it  is  joyous 
work  this  working  for  Him.  I  wish  I  could 
go  and  plunge  into  it  wholly,  into  the  slums  and 
dark  places  and  bring  help  to  those  who  do  not 
know.  Now  you  have  found  Him — " 

"Found  Him  ?"  she  repeated,  looking  up  into 
his  face. 

"Yes,  you  have  found  Him,  haven't  you, — 
the  Christ  who  alone  can  save  you  and  keep 
you?  Have  you?"  He  looked  always  at  life 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  preacher.  Long 
habit  had  blinded  him  to  everything  else. 

"You  said  that  for  me  you  were  the  Christ," 


216         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

she  said,  slowly,  her  eyes  looking  into  his  face 
with  wonder. 

"No,  no,"  he  objected,  quickly.  "Don't  mis- 
understand me.  I'm  only  His  agent.  He 
works  through  me, — through  all  His  children. 
He  came  to  you  through  me.  Have  you 
prayed  ?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"You  must, — constantly, — and  you  must 
read  the  Bible, — your  Testament,  daily.  Do 
you?" 

"Yes.  I  keep  it  here,  all  the  time."  She 
put  her  hand  to  her  bosom  with  a  quick  move- 
ment. "The  one  you  gave  me,"  she  added. 
"You  marked  it." 

"That's  right,"  he  burst  out  heartily.  "Read 
it  constantly,  for  it  is  the  guide  to  life,  the  only 
guide." 

How  little  she  knew  of  this  Christian  way 
that  she  had  entered !  She  was  a  very  babe  in 
the  wilderness  of  life.  A  feeling  of  pity  welled 
up  within  him  as  he  thought  of  it.  What  did 
she  know  of  the  struggle  that  was  to  come,  the 
fighting  and  fears  and  temptations?  And  the 
time  was  right  upon  her  when  she  would  need 
all  the  strength  that  she  could  bring  into  her 
life.  She  needed  gentleness  now,  and  patience, 
and  careful  instruction.  She  must  be  fed  on 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING         217 

the  milk  of  the  Word  of  God.  It  was  his  duty. 
And  so,  as  they  flew  along  the  streets  and  out 
into  the  springtime  fields,  he  opened  to  her  in 
the  simplest  words  the  mysteries  of  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven.  He  talked  as  to  a  child,  and 
he  explained  and  he  pleaded  as  one  who  would 
woo  unto  life  a  perishing  soul. 

And  the  girl  followed  him  with  her  eyes,  and 
said  "yes"  and  "no"  in  an  awed  sort  of  way, 
and  did  not  look  to  the  right  or  the  left  as  they 
sped  through  the  broad  country  and  the  wood- 
lands, and  along  the  meadows  alive  and  fra- 
grant with  the  early  spring. 

Back  in  his  room  at  noon  Gait  felt  as  joyous 
as  he  had  felt  even  in  the  early  morning  when 
he  had  looked  out  over  the  sunrise.  He  had 
seen  the  sunrise  in  a  human  soul.  She  had 
promised  him  to  go  back  to  Mother  Brown's 
and  to  help  in  any  way  she  could.  When  she 
had  learned  something  of  the  work,  she  would 
go  under  the  old  worker's  guidance  out  into  the 
slums  and  dark  places.  She  had  promised  to 
devote  her  whole  life  to  the  work.  He  envied 
her.  What  a  joy  it  would  be  to  go  unhampered 
into  the  great  vineyard  with  no  one  to  serve  or 
to  think  about  save  the  Master  for  whom  he 
toiled!  It  had  indeed  been  worth  while  to 
rescue  Isobel  Carniston.  The  church  had  been 


218          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

wrong.  What  was  there  for  Mr.  Bradley  to 
say  now? 

So  full  was  he  of  it  all  that  he  overflowed 
with  it  when  late  in  the  afternoon  Dick  came 
to  take  him  to  Miss  Thost's  lecture.  Dick  was 
skeptical. 

"I  wouldn't  tell  old  Bradley  just  at  present," 
he  advised. 

"Why  not?" 

"The  girl  is  versatile,  Johnny." 

"I  tell  you  she  is  dead  in  earnest,"  he  burst 
out,  almost  testily.  "I  know  it.  She  is  going 
to  be  as  much  of  a  power  for  good  as  she  was 
a  power  for  evil.  She  has  changed  completely. 
She  is  going  to  be  a  mission  worker." 

"Johnny,  you  watch  out." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  just  this,  Johnny :  we  live  in  a  devil- 
ish wicked  world,  and  you  make  a  mistake  when 
you  don't  keep  it  in  your  mind  every  minute. 
You  just  keep  your  eyes  wide  open,  both  of 
them." 

"But  what  object  can  the  girl  have,  Dick?" 

"Johnny,  look  here.  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
things  straight.  What  you  need  is  a  dose  of 
ungodliness.  You  are  like  the  old  maid  the 
doctor  prescribed  a  spree  for.  You  ought  to 
backslide  for  six  months.  Then  your  work 


THE  FIRES  OF  SPRING          219 

would  amount  to  something.  You  haven't  got 
devil  enough  in  you  to  run  a  church.  Come  on 
to  the  lecture.  I  want  to  tell  you  a  few  things 
about  this  little  Queen  Isobella." 

"It's  all  useless,  Dick."  He  arose  and  put 
on  his  coat  almost  testily.  "I  know  what  you 
are  going  to  say.  I'm  not  an  infant.  I  have 
been  perfectly  aware  of  the  lure  of  the  girl, — 
I  expected  it.  It  was  but  a  manifestation  of 
her  depraved  nature.  She  knows  no  better. 
It  has  been  a  part  of  her  life  so  long  that  it 
has  become  second  nature.  Any  woman  of  her 
class  would  act  the  same  way.  But  granting 
all  this,  that  is  no  reason  why  she  should  be 
thrown  to  perfect  ruin.  She  is  not  wholly  lost; 
there's  the  germ  of  better  things  in  her  life. 
I  know  it;  I  saw  it.  She's  honest,  Dick,  now. 
She  can  be  saved  and  made  a  power  for  good. 
I  am  absolutely  sure  of  it.  I  am  not  easily 
mistaken  in  a  thing  like  this." 

''Johnny,  did  you  ever  see  a  man  who  was 
learning  to  ride  a  bicycle  ride  smash  into  a 
thing  that  was  right  before  his  eyes  ?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  think,"  Gait  burst  out. 
"I'm  right  in  this  matter.  My  heart  tells  me 
that  she  is  won  for  Jesus  Christ.  She  is  no 
worse  than  Mary  Magdalene  was,  and  think  of 
what  a  power  she  became." 


220          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Johnny,  my  last  word  is  just  this:  some- 
thing's going  to  happen.  You  are  going  to 
wake  up  with  a  jump  and  it's  going  to  be  soon. 
Too  bad,  Johnny." 

"Yes,  you  are  right;  something's  going  to 
happen.  When  you  put  Jesus  Christ  into  a 
life  something  always  happens." 

"All  right,  Johnny,  but  it's  a  cussed  shame." 

And  it  was  that  very  afternoon  that  Helda 
Thost  said  in  her  lecture : 

"The  Soul  comes  only  with  Love, — that  su- 
preme love  that  is  above  all  death.  There  is 
no  soul  until  love  broods  over  the  life  and  whis- 
pers, 'arise  and  be.' ' 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    NIGHT   OF    MAY 

NOTHING  happened ;  Dick  was  no  prophet. 
Isobel  Carniston  went  to  work  with  all 
the  zeal  of  a  novice,  and  April  flew  into  May. 
Mother  Brown  believed  that  no  one  is  equipped 
for  mission  work  without  a  practical  knowledge 
of  nursing  and  that  no  one  gets  this  knowledge 
without  beginning  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 
The  girl's  first  weeks  therefore  were  like  those 
of  every  trained  nurse,  a  revolting  round  of 
drudgery  from  washing  the  floors  to  sitting  up 
all  night  ready  to  do  errands.  The  old  worker 
kept  constantly  near  her  at  first  to  advise  and  to 
encourage,  but  there  was  apparently  no  need 
for  apprehension.  The  change  seemed  like  a 
miracle,  as  indeed  it  was.  When  she  told  Gait 
about  it  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  thanked  God 
and  went  to  the  girl  and  told  her  that  her  work 
was  gratifying  him  more  than  any  other  thing 
that  had  ever  happened  in  his  Christian  min- 
istry. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  she  had  said.     "I  am 

221 


222          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

trying  just  as  hard  as  I  can,"  and  she  had 
looked  up  at  him  almost  wistfully,  he  thought. 
She  was  beginning  to  understand  and  it  was 
well. 

"You  will  come  often  ?"  she  had  pleaded. 

"Indeed  I  will."  And  as  he  looked  down  into 
her  face  he  had  meant  it. 

Eor  the  first  time  he  really  saw  the  girl.  She 
had  been  sweeping,  and  she  was  dressed  for  her 
work  in  a  plain  wrapper  that  clung  to  her  figure. 
Her  arms,  plump  and  perfect,  were  bare  above 
the  elbows.  Her  hair,  struggling  rebelliously 
with  the  tight  cap,  fell  in  golden  wisps  about 
her  face  and  neck.  There  was  color  in  her 
cheeks,  and  for  the  first  time  there  was  soul  in 
the  eyes  that  looked  at  him. 

"I  will  come  often,"  he  said,  and  he  meant  it, 
and  he  gave  her  his  hand  with  impulsiveness. 
"This  is  fine.  You  have  done  well.  God  bless 
you." 

"I  am  glad  if  you  like  it,"  she  said,  slowly, 
the  color  deepening  in  her  cheeks.  Then  she 
stood  with  her  broom  and  watched  him  as  he 
disappeared  down  the  hall.  He  did  not  see 
that,  and  he  did  not  hear  what  sounded  very 
much  like  a  sob.  If  he  had,  perhaps  things 
might  have  come  out  differently. 

He  had  gone  out  fully  resolved  to  visit  her 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  223 

often, — every  week  perhaps,  and  even  oftener. 
She  needed  constant  guidance  and  sympathy 
and  encouragement.  Her  temptations  would 
be  peculiarly  strong.  Her  temperament,  her 
ideals  of  life,  and  her  circle  of  acquaintance 
were  all  against  her.  He  and  Mother  Brown 
must  keep  her  active  in  things  that  would  in- 
terest her,  and  surround  her  every  moment  with 
the  life  that  would  build  up  and  round  out  and 
strengthen.  By  and  by  she  would  be  strong 
enough  to  stand  by  herself  and  even  to  help 
others.  The  pastor  certainly  had  meant  to  help 
her,  but  it  was  mid-May  when  he  saw  her  next, 
and  then  it  was  under  circumstances  that  he  had 
not  foreseen. 

Really  Gait  had  not  been  to  blame.  He  had 
been  harassed  and  troubled.  He  was  not  natu- 
rally of  a  business  turn  and  his  years  of  cloister 
life  in  the  seminary  had  unfitted  him  still  fur- 
ther for  executive  work.  He  was  a  prophet 
and  a  thinker, — a  man  of  the  spirit, — and  now 
he  found  himself  almost  as  full  of  administra- 
tive detail  as  the  president  of  a  corporation. 
The  work  was  going  harder  than  it  had  ever 
gone  before ;  every  day  it  seemed  to  need  more 
motive  power  just  to  keep  the  great  machine  in 
motion.  Committee  work,  organizations  lit- 
erary and  athletic  and  juvenile,  social  obliga- 


224          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

tions  of  a  dozen  varieties,  all  drained  him  of 
his  time.  It  was  not  right  to  compel  the  spirit- 
ual leader  of  a  people  to  lose  himself  in  a  mass 
of  merely  executive  work, — he  knew  that,  and 
more  and  more  he  found  himself  in  rebellion. 
He  ought  to  have  at  least  one  day  every  week 
to  himself,  a  day  in  which  he  might  do  nothing 
save  work  with  human  souls  and  lead  the  re- 
ligious life.  Next  week  he  would  take  such  a 
day.  He  had  not  been  into  the  tenements  since 
that  afternoon  in  March.  For  shame!  Miss 
Thost  had  been  there  often;  the  little  French 
family  looked  upon  her  now  as  a  very  angel. 
That  was  Christian  work;  that  was  the  work 
Jesus  would  do ;  but  day  after  day  there  was  no 
time.  It  was  always  next  week.  He  would 
call  on  Miss  Carniston  to-morrow,  always  to- 
morrow. The  routine  of  his  office  work  was 
driving  him ;  the  stack  of  letters  to  be  answered 
seemed  to  be  piling  higher;  the  institutions  of 
the  church  were  growing  daily  more  compli- 
cated. Constantly  something  new  must  be  de- 
vised to  stimulate  the  jaded  activities  of  his 
people,  and  when  this  device  began  to  fail  some- 
thing new  and  more  compelling  must  be  sought 
to  replace  it.  "The  work  must  not  flag,"  was 
the  motto  of  Mr.  Bradley,  and  he  dinned  it  into 
the  pastor's  ears.  The  numbers  must  be  held 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  225 

up  in  the  Bible  classes ;  the  boys'  clubs  must  not 
be  allowed  to  fall  off;  there  must  be  stereopti- 
con  lectures  to  counteract  the  moving-picture 
shows;  there  must  be  a  billiard  parlor  to  keep 
the  young  men  from  the  saloons ;  there  must  be 
outings,  and  nature  study  classes,  and  gym- 
nasium work  and  cooking-classes, — there  was 
no  end.  He  was  forced  to  preach  his  sermons 
at  times  almost  without  preparation. 

The  really  bright  spots  in  the  pastor's  week, 
whether  he  admitted  it  or  not,  were  those  times 
when  he  and  Dick  were  at  the  lectures  on  Sum- 
mer Street.  That  hour  was  his  own,  and  he 
allowed  nothing  to  interfere  with  it.  It  was 
relaxation  and  it  was  stimulus.  It  was  like 
leaving  the  tenseness  and  the  clangor  of  the 
Western  market-place  and  entering  the  cool 
precincts  of  the  Oriental  mosque  where  time  is 
forgotten  and  dreams  are  the  realities.  What 
worlds  apart  were  Mrs.  Bailey,  with  her  glib- 
ness  and  her  eager  activities,  and  this  clear-eyed 
prophetess  who  sat  unruffled  amid  the  silences 
and  contemplated  the  human  soul.  His  con- 
ception of  the  woman  had  changed  completely. 
This  was  no  vulgar  exploiter  of  strange  beliefs, 
mouthing  words  she  did  not  understand;  she 
was  a  living  soul,  the  most  sensitive  and  electric 
he  had  ever  known.  In  clearness  of  thought 


226          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  in  vision  and  largeness  of  view  she  sur- 
passed him, — he  felt  it  more  and  more  as  he  sat 
in  her  presence.  And  in  all  the  real  funda- 
mentals he  agreed  with  her  completely.  He 
was  becoming  tolerant  even  of  her  occultism. 
The  general  tone  of  it  rather  appealed  to  him. 
When  one  enters  the  realm  of  the  spirit  there 
are  no  boundaries  save  those  made  by  preju- 
dice, and  in  the  presence  of  her  perfect  tolera- 
tion prejudice  seemed  vulgar  and  narrow.  He 
admired  the  clear  way  she  stated  her  positions, 
the  soft  beauty  of  her  sentences  which  seemed 
to  him  almost  like  poetry,  the  epigrammatic 
cling  of  her  periods,  and  at  times  the  thrilling 
sweep  of  her  imagination,  that  bore  him  away 
into  regions  that  filled  him  with  awe.  She  was 
the  most  wonderful  woman  he  had  ever  seen, 
the  most  compelling  personality  that  had  en- 
tered his  life.  At  times  she  would  hold  him 
with  a  power  that  was  almost  occult,  and  his 
soul  would  cry  out  within  him,  "This  indeed  is 
the  religious  life ;  this  is  what  God  meant  when 
He  said,  'I  will  pour  out  my  spirit  upon  you.' 
This  is  the  atmosphere  the  soul  should  live  and 
grow  in,  and  would  God  I  might  give  myself  to 
it  wholly!" 

On  the  sixteenth  of  May  the  Choral  Society 
gave  the  little  city  its  annual  taste  of  grand 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  227 

opera.  Thelba  sang  in  "Tannhaiiser,"  a  rare 
event  anywhere,  and  despite  the  unusual  rates 
the  house  was  full.  Dick  had  been  planning 
about  it  for  a  month.  The  three  were  to  be  his 
guests  that  evening;  they  were  to  surrender 
themselves  to  him  and  think  no  more  about  it; 
he  had  secured  proper  tickets  and  had  made  all 
arrangements.  The  "proper  tickets,"  they  dis- 
covered later,  admitted  them  to  the  best  box  in 
the  theatre.  That  was  Dick's  way. 

It  was  a  new  world  to  Gait.  He  had  never 
been  in  a  box  before,  and  as  he  looked  out  over 
the  brilliant  house  in  which  he  seemed  to  be  at 
the  most  brilliant  focus,  it  gave  him  a  new  sen- 
sation. Everything  was  new.  He  had  never 
seen  Helda  Thost  in  evening  dress  before  and 
he  had  never  seen  her  so  vivacious  and  so  alive. 
It  was  not  the  prophetess  now,  it  was  the 
woman.  The  abundance  and  the  intense  black 
of  her  hair,  flecked  so  strikingly  with  its  white 
strands,  the  olive  paleness  of  her  cheeks,  the 
droop  of  her  eyes  with  their  long  lashes,  the 
slight  figure  in  the  black  dress  that  sparkled 
with  her  every  movement  as  if  powdered  with 
diamonds,  were  enough  to  draw  attention  to  her 
anywhere.  The  house  was  aware  of  her  pres- 
ence. Gait  felt  it  in  a  sort  of  electric  thrill  that 
at  first  startled  and  then  exhilarated  him.  He 


228          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

found  himself  watching  her  every  movement. 
Her  perfect  ease,  her  poise  and  grace,  and  her 
swift  mastery  of  the  situation  at  every  moment 
impressed  him  more  and  more.  How  sensitive 
she  was  and  how  susceptible  to  every  breath  of 
harmony  and  of  beauty!  The  singer  seemed 
to  single  her  out  from  the  whole  audience  and 
to  play  upon  her  soul  as  upon  a  harp  of  gos- 
samer. Her  eyes  sparkled  with  passion  or 
melted  with  pity  or  danced  with  joy  as  the 
singer  willed.  The  soul  of  the  artist  and  of  the 
woman  who  listened  seemed  for  the  moment  to 
be  one. 

"Now  for  the  real  fifth  act."  Dick  was  on 
his  feet  before  the  final  curtain  had  fairly 
touched  the  floor.  "Larry's  is  the  climax  what- 
ever the  show  may  be,"  he  cried,  breezily. 
"We'll  go  right  down.  It's  only  a  step,  and  we 
can  walk." 

She  said  nothing.  There  was  a  pensive  look 
in  her  eyes;  the  illusion  still  lingered.  She 
arose  half  regretfully  and  allowed  him  to  help 
her  with  her  wraps. 

"You're  coming  too,  Johnny."  Dick  was 
full  of  animation ;  he  was  the  host.  "I've  made 
all  the  preparations.  I  couldn't  get  a  private 
room,  for  the  yellow  devils  cut  in  ahead,  but 
who  cares  for  that?" 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  229 

"The  yellow  devils?" 

"Sure,  and  you  didn't  see  'em?" 

"No." 

"And  you  didn't  see  her?" 

"Her?" 

"All  right,  Johnny.  Never  mind.  I'm  aw- 
ful glad  you  didn't.  Come  on." 

They  found  a  table  ready,  with  Charley  in 
immaculate  dress  suit  bowing  effusive  welcome. 

"Everything  is  jest  ready,  suh,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Jest  this  very  minute  ready,  suh." 

"Good.  Everything  is  good  after  Wagner. 
I  call  it  musical  assault  and  battery;  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  been  given  the  third  degree." 

"Why,  Dick,"  expostulated  his  sister,  "it 
was  beautiful ;  it  was  perfect." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so;  it's  better  than  it  sounds 
they  tell  me.  Wagner's  the  Browning  of 
music,  I  believe,  and  I  haven't  taken  degrees 
enough.  Who  was  it  that  defined  Wagner  as 
the  most  expensive  noise  of  modern  times  ?" 

There  was  a  movement  behind  them,  and 
they  turned  to  find  a  woman  in  evening  dress, 
— a  most  beautiful  woman,  with  marvellous 
hair  and  with  roses  in  her  corsage,  coming  to- 
ward them  as  if  she  were  late  at  an  engage- 
ment. 

"Ah,  good  evening;  this  is  so  unexpected." 


230          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

She  bowed  to  them  winningly,  a  tall  figure  per- 
fectly gowned,  her  face  radiant  with  pleasure. 
There  was  an  instant's  hush,  then  it  flashed 
upon  Gait  with  a  bound  of  the  heart  that  this 
was  Isobel  Carniston.  It  took  his  breath 
away.  "May  I  join  you,  please, — for  a  mo- 
ment?" she  asked,  graciously.  Dick  was  on 
his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"Ah,  delighted,''  he  said,  bowing  royally. 
"Miss  Thost,  Miss  Paine,  let  me  present  my 
friend,  Miss  Carniston."  They  bowed  stiffly 
and  then  sat  and  looked  at  her.  The  situation 
was  unusual.  "You  have  met  Mr.  Gait,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Oh,  certainly."  She  looked  over  at  him 
and  smiled. 

"Right  here,  Miss  Carniston;  this  chair. 
Charley,  make  a  place  here,  lively.  You  are 
just  in  time,  Miss  Carniston.  I  ordered  for 
five."  He  stood  holding  the  chair  for  her. 
She  smiled  at  him,  and  then  turned  to  a  waiter 
who  was  now  seen  to  be  standing  behind  her 
with  her  wraps  upon  his  arm. 

"You  may  hang  them  there,"  she  said. 
"That's  all ;  you  may  go."  She  turned  serenely 
to  Dick  and  took  the  chair.  "Nothing  for  me, 
please,"  she  said. 

"Sure,  you  want  something.     Just  look  at 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  231 

that.  Charley's  got  enough  for  ten.  Of 
course  you  are  going  to  have  something.  An- 
other plate,  Charley."  She  made  a  little  ges- 
ture of  protest,  but  yielded. 

Gait  had  not  spoken  a  word.  He  did  not 
think  quickly  at  such  times ;  the  sudden  appari- 
tion of  the  girl  bewildered  him.  Across  the 
table  Frieda  Paine  was  visibly  disturbed.  This 
hinted  of  an  unknown  chapter  in  her  brother's 
life  and  it  seemed  improper.  She  glanced  fur- 
tively over  at  Miss  Thost,  but  she  saw  nothing 
to  confirm  her  fears.  There  was  an  embar- 
rassing moment.  Dick  was  busy  with  his 
carving. 

"I  suppose  you  were  at  the  opera?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  yes;  beautiful,  wasn't  it?"  The  girl 
was  perfectly  at  her  ease.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  been  invited  as  one  of  the  group. 

"Oh,  yes ;  fine  show !"  Dick  answered  breez- 
ily, sawing  away  at  his  carving.  "For  soft 
harmony  and  dreamy  effects  there  is  nothing, 
you  know,  like  Wagner.  You  were  there  with 
Dolphie,  I  believe?" 

"Yes.  And  I  left  him."  Gait  followed  an 
unconscious  flutter  of  her  eye  and  saw  several 
young  men  in  evening  dress  looking  at  him 
from  the  door  of  one  of  the  small  dining-rooms. 
The  whole  situation  came  to  him  in  a  flash. 


232          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

She  had  been  lured  back  into  her  old  life,  but 
had  broken  from  it  at  the  sight  of  him.  The 
embarrassed  look  left  his  face  instantly.  She 
had  been  strong  enough  to  conquer  at  what 
must  have  been  her  weakest  moment.  It  had 
taken  moral  fibre  to  do  what  she  had  done,  and 
it  could  have  come  only  from  what  he  had 
taught  her.  He  had  neglected  the  girl.  A 
hot  wave  of  conscience  swept  over  him.  It 
had  been  almost  too  late. 

"You  did  precisely  right,  Miss  Carniston," 
he  said,  with  a  quiver  in  his  voice.  "I  under- 
stand now."  A  flush  sprang  into  her  cheeks. 

"But  I  owe  you  so  many  apologies,"  she  fal- 
tered. "It  was  rude ;  I  have  shocked  you." 

"Impossible,"  Dick  burst  in,  gallantly. 
"Don't  think  of  it.  The  pleasure  is  all  ours." 

"It  was  the  only  thing  you  could  have  done, 
really."  Gait  spoke  almost  excitedly.  "I  am 
glad  you  had  the  strength  to  do  it." 

Frieda  Paine  bent  low  over  her  plate  and 
said  nothing.  To  her  the  conventionalities  of 
^life  were  iron  laws,  and  the  conventionalities 
had  suffered.  She  did  not  know  just  what  had 
occurred,  but  she  knew  that  something  was 
wrong.  There  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

Again  there  was  an  embarrassing  moment, 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  233 

and  again  the  girl  was  the  one  to  break  the 
silence. 

"I  think  I  may  say  that  I  am  one  of  Mr. 
Gait's  parishioners,"  she  said,  addressing  the 
ladies,  and  then  looking  smilingly  up  at  the 
pastor. 

"Why,  indeed  you  are,"  he  replied,  quickly. 
"You  are  certainly  a  parishioner." 

"Johnny's  got  a  big  parish.  All  the  world 
is  Johnny's  parish,  but  there's  a  certain  bunch 
of  women  up  there  who  think  they've  got  a 
fence  around  him."  There  was  a  droll  look  on 
Dick's  face.  He  caught  Miss  Thost's  eye  and 
smiled. 

At  that  moment  an  immaculate  young  man 
appeared  from  behind  them.  He  bowed  to  the 
table  and  then  turned  to  Miss  Carniston. 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  will  be  ready  soon?" 
he  asked,  in  velvet  tones.  There  was  about 
him  no  sign  of  haste  or  agitation. 

"Thank  you."  She  smiled  up  at  him. 
"Thank  you  for  your  thoughtfulness,  Mr. 
Price.  I  am  to  go  with  Mr.  Gait.  You  are 
very  kind."  If  there  was  nervousness  about 
her  she  showed  no  signs  of  it. 

"Ah,  indeed.  Then,  good  night."  He 
bowed  again  and  went  away  seemingly  as  un- 


234          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

ruffled  as  if  he  were  her  brother  solicitous 
about  providing  her  with  an  escort  home.  It 
was  all  so  natural  that  even  those  at  the  near- 
est table  did  not  look  up. 

"Oh,  I  hope  I  have  not  presumed,  Mr.  Gait." 
There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice.  "I  had  to 
dismiss  him,  and  without  making  a  scene. 
Any  arrangement  will  satisfy  me." 

Miss  Paine  bit  her  lip  nervously. 

"And  you  did  right,"  the  pastor  broke  out 
emphatically.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  take  you 
home." 

"Miss  Carniston,  you  are  a  thoroughbred." 
Dick  was  looking  at  her  with  admiration.  "I 
never  saw  a  nervier  piece  of  work.  And  you 
knew  all  the  time  they  were  back  there  watch- 
ing you?  By  Jove,  I'd  trust  you  to  carry  a 
candle  through  a  powder  mill.  The  fellow's  a 
cad, — I  know  him, — and  the  whole  crowd. 
Say,  I'd  give  ten  dollars  if  I  were  where  I 
could  hear  him  swear." 

"Dick!"     His  sister's  face  was  scarlet. 

"Why,  it  would  be  worth  it."  He  turned 
to  her,  his  eyes  open  very  wide.  "Don't  you 
get  shocked  at  my  extravagance.  I'd  give 
twenty." 

"It's  time  to  go."     She  arose  with  decision. 

"All  right.     I'll  take  you  and  Miss  Thost, 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  235 

and,  Johnny,  you'll  take  care  of  Miss  Carnis- 
ton." 

"Certainly." 

The  two  groups  separated  at  the  door. 
Summer  Street  was  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  Mother  Brown's. 

"I  think  I  can  get  a  cab  just  around  the 
corner,"  Gait  announced.  "We'll  try  it." 

"Oh,  we  don't  want  any  cab,"  she  cried, 
scornfully.  "The  idea !  We'll  cut  right  across 
the  park  here  and  save  five  blocks.  It's  only  a 
step,  and  it's  beautiful."  She  took  his  arm  and 
struck  out  sturdily. 

"Very  well,"  he  acquiesced. 

It  was  indeed  beautiful.  The  May  night, 
quivering  with  newly  awakened  life,  shut  them 
in  with  its  folds  as  if  there  were  none  else  in 
the  whole  world  save  them.  The  air  was 
warm  and  it  steamed  with  the  odors  of  the 
damp  earth  and  the  bursting  buds.  And  above 
all  and  dominating  it  all  smiled  the  soft,  full 
moon,  directly  in  the  zenith,  flooding  every- 
thing with  its  radiance. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  burst  out,  with  trem- 
bling eagerness.  "I  want  to  tell  you  all  about 
it.  I  didn't  mean  to.  I've  tried  just  the  hard- 
est that  ever  I  could;  honestly  I  have.  But 
you  didn't  come — and — and  nobody  cared.-~-e.x- 


236          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

cept  Mother  Brown — and  it  was  so  lonesome. 
Oh,  Mr.  Gait,  you  can't  understand  it.  He 
came  there  this  afternoon  when  I  was  alone. 
I  wouldn't  see  him — I  hated  him — I  wanted  to 
kill  him."  She  rolled  the  words  with  fierce- 
ness. "Then  he  gave  me  roses, — these  roses. 
I  hadn't  seen  a  rose  before  for  a  hundred  years 
— and  violets,  and  they  seemed  to  craze  me — 
and  then  he  gave  me  this."  She  pointed  to  the 
circlet  of  pearl-like  gems  at  her  throat  which 
rippled  and  blended  in  the  moonlight  as  if  they 
were  alive.  Then  she  paused  breathlessly. 

"Yes.     I  understand,"  he  said. 

It  was  indeed  pitifully  clear.  She  was  again 
her  old  self,  and  the  wretched  crew  had  found 
her  again  worth  while.  They  had  appealed  to 
her  at  her  weakest  point.  Gait  had  once  ex- 
pressed to  Dick  his  conviction  that  violets  are 
immodest.  Their  appeal,  he  had  maintained, 
is  too  strong.  They  have  little  for  the  eye  and 
much  for  the  grosser  sense;  they  are  of  the 
earth  wholly,  of  the  unsunned,  damp  places, 
and  they  appeal  always  most  powerfully  to 
those  who  have  the  spiritual  overbalanced  by 
the  physical.  The  thing  was  perfectly  clear. 
To  Isobel  Carniston  the  perfume  had  been  the 
narcotic  that  had  been  denied  to  her  for  weeks. 
It  had  awakened  the  past  with  a  bound,  and 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  237 

had  brought  swarming  upon  her,  eager  and 
passionate,  all  the  sensuous  world  of  wealth 
and  color  and  movement  and  beauty  and  ex- 
citement that  had  been  her  life. 

They  walked  in  silence  along  the  forsaken 
path  among  the  shrubs  and  hedges,  their  two 
shadows  blended  into  one  black  point.  Then 
they  turned  into  the  narrow  path  among  the 
rhododendron  where  a  few  weeks  before  he  had 
told  her  of  Mother  Brown. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  go,"  she  began  again, 
breathlessly,  and  he  felt  her  arm  tremble  on 
his.  "But  it  came  so  suddenly,  and  I  wanted 
to  see  it,  and  I  didn't  realize, — and  now  you 
hate  me — I  know  you  do — you  hate  me." 

"Hate  you !  What  an  idea !  Why  should  I 
hate  you  ?" 

"Because  I'm  weak  and — and — because  I 
went  with  him — because — "  she  stopped. 

"But  you  left  them;  you  were  strong  enough 
to  do  that,"  he  argued. 

"It  was  Jim  Bradley,"  she  whispered, 
hoarsely.  "I  didn't  see  him  till  I  got  to 
Larry's  and  then  he  sneered  at  me,  and — you." 

"At  me?" 

"Yes.  He  called  you  a  smooth  little  ladies' 
man  that  I  was  gone  on,  and  I  threw  the 
wine  in  his  face.  My  God !  I  wish  it  had  been 


238          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

vitriol!  And  then  you  came  in.  Oh,  Mr. 
Gait,  I'm  strong  when  you  are  with  me.  I  can 
do  anything.  Oh,  you  won't  leave  me  alone 
again,  will  you?  I'll  do  anything — I'll  go  any- 
where— only — only — "  She  dropped  his  arm 
with  a  quick  movement,  and  then  stopped  just 
in  front  of  him. 

There  was  a  radiant  look  in  her  face  that  the 
moonlight  softened  and  glorified.  She  was 
breathing  heavily.  So  close  was  he  to  her  that 
he  caught  the  faint  perfume  of  the  roses  at  her 
corsage  and  felt  her  breath  warm  upon  his 
cheek.  It  was  a  vision  to  shake  a  man, — any 
man :  the  moonlight  full  upon  her,  bringing  out 
the  glow  of  the  pearl  at  her  throat,  the  sheen 
of  the  clinging  silks  that  seemed  to  blend  with 
her  flesh  without  line  of  parting,  the  roses  send- 
ing up  their  strong  appeal,  the  flushed  face 
with  the  look  upon  it  that  comes  but  once  into 
the  face  of  any  woman.  For  a  single  instant 
his  heart  sang  wildly.  Whole  new  areas 
within  him  seemed  to  awake  with  a  thrill. 
But  the  Puritan  who  had  "crucified  the  flesh" 
had  been  too  long  in  command.  After  a  dizzy 
moment  he  stood  on  guard.  It  was  the  wanton 
nature  of  the  girl,  he  reasoned,  kindled  by  the 
springtime  and  the  night,  and  he  was  responsi- 
ble for  her  before  Almighty  God.  This  rudi- 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  239 

mentary  human  soul  had  been  put  into  his 
keeping.  And  what  ought  he  to  do?  How 
was  he  to  discipline  this  passionate,  untamed 
creature,  and  bring  her  to  see  life  in  its  true 
light?  Could  it  be  done?  Had  God  required 
of  him  a  task  that  was  impossible?  For  an 
instant  he  stood  looking  at  her  and  thinking 
hard. 

"I  knew  it  was  so,"  she  whispered,  almost 
like  a  grieved  child.  "You  don't  like  me  and 
—and  I've  tried  so  hard."  She  looked  up  at 
him  with  drooping  eyes. 

"Indeed,  indeed,  you  are  wrong.  I  have  told 
you—" 

"Oh,  what's  the  use !"  she  broke  in,  with  sud- 
den vehemence.  "I  don't  care;  I  thought  I 
did,  but  I  don't.  What  does  it  all  amount  to! 
Pshaw !  What's  the  use !" 

"Why,  sister !"  he  expostulated. 

"I  have  done  everything  you  told  me  to, — 
every  single  thing,"  she  went  on,  excitedly. 
"I've  given  everything  there  is  of  me, — every- 
thing. There,  take  that  and  that !"  In  a  sort 
of  frenzy  she  snatched  off  the  necklace  and 
hurled  it  to  the  walk  and  then  tore  off  her  roses. 
"My  God,  what  more  can  I  do  than  that?  I'll 
do  anything,  Mr.  Gait.  I  don't  care  how  hard 
it  is  if  you'll  only  just  like  me, — if  I  can  only 


240          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

be  with  you.  I  can  do  anything  when  you  are 
with  me." 

"No,  no,  it's  not  me,"  he  cried,  as  if  to  argue 
down  what  his  heart  told  him  she  had  said, 
"it  is  not  me  that  you  want;  it's  the  Christ." 

"Oh,  my  God!  It's  nothing  but  Christ, 
Christ,  Christ,"  she  burst  out,  hysterically. 
"You  can't  understand, — you  won't.  And  you 
think  that !  Oh,  quick — I'm  sick — I'm  faint  P 

She  threw  up  her  hands  uncertainly  and  tot- 
tered towards  him.  He  was  just  in  time  to 
save  her  from  going  down.  As  he  touched  her 
warm  flesh  and  held  her  to  him  to  keep  her 
from  falling,  something  new  within  him  burst 
into  fierce  life.  Her  arms  had  fallen  about  his 
neck  and  now  they  clung,  warm  and  passionate, 
until  her  soft  cheek  was  against  his.  For  an 
instant  the  shrubbery  swam  before  his  eyes. 
An  impulse  to  crush  her  to  himself,  to  rain 
kisses  upon  her  face,  her  lips,  her  bosom, 
swept  over  him  like  a  hot  wave.  He  looked 
down  upon  her,  on  the  full  lips,  the  lithe  figure, 
— a  woman  as  glorious  as  Eve  and  as  perfect, 
and  she  loved  him.  He  thought  he  heard  a 
laugh  in  the  shrubbery  near  at  hand,  but  it  was 
only  the  impression  of  a  moment.  He  was 
master  again;  the  temptation  had  been  a  mad 
impulse ;  thank  God,  he  was  master !  This  was 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  241 

not  love;  it  was  mere  passion.  She  had  loved 
many  men  thus.  It  was  for  him  to  save  her — 
to  rescue  her  from  her  own  lower  self. 

"You  have  overtaxed  yourself,"  he  said, 
breathing  heavily.  "You  ought  not  to  have 
walked."  He  half  led  her,  half  carried  her,  to 
a  bench.  "I'll  get  some  water." 

"No,  no,"  she  cried,  coming  instantly  to  life. 
"Don't  you  do  it.  I  don't  want  any  water.  I 
wish  I  was  dead,  dead,  dead!  My  God,  and 
I  will  be.  Let  me  alone." 

"Why,  sister,"  he  exclaimed. 

"Don't  you  call  me  sister,"  she  blazed,  "don't 
you  do  it !  Oh,  I  hate  you.  You  are  despisa- 
ble;  you  are  not  a  man  at  all.  Jim  Bradley's 
more  of  a  man.  If  you  had  only  just  the  little 
finger  of  a  man  you  wouldn't  treat  me  so — oh, 
my  God,  how  I  hate  you.  I  hate  you,  I  hate 
you,  I  hate  you !"  With  a  swift  movement  she 
bounded  from  the  bench  and  darted  down  the 
path. 

"No,  no, — Miss  Carniston.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment!" he  called,  following  her  with  quick 
steps.  "Come  back!"  She  did  not  heed  him. 
He  tried  to  overtake  her,  but  as  he  rounded  the 
corner  he  saw  her  dart  in  at  Mother  Brown's 
gate.  He  stopped  and  for  a  full  moment  he 
pondered  what  he  should  do.  Manifestly  there 


242          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

was  no  use  talking  with  the  girl  in  her  present 
mood  even  if  he  could  find  her.  He  would  go 
down  early  in  the  morning;  he  would  save  her 
yet. 

As  he  turned,  a  man  passed  him,  a  man  with 
an  opera  hat  drawn  low  to  conceal  his  eyes. 
The  moonlight  was  full  upon  him.  That  was 
Jim  Bradley.  Was  he  going  to  Mother 
Brown's?  The  pastor  went  up  to  the  next 
street  crossing  and  then  stopped  in  the  shadow. 
The  young  man  went  straight  by  Mother 
Brown's.  For  the  present  the  girl  seemed  to 
be  safe.  A  moment  and  he  started  for  home. 

At  the  bench  in  the  park  he  stooped  and 
gathered  one  by  one  the  torn  roses.  The  neck- 
lace he  found  lying  where  she  had  flung  it,  a 
shimmering  thing  in  the  moonlight,  but  how 
cold  now  and  lifeless.  He  put  it  into  his 
pocket  and  he  took  the  roses  along  with  him, 
he  knew  not  why.  In  his  room  he  sat  for  a 
long  time  and  brooded  over  the  matter.  The 
girl  had  fallen  in  love  with  him,  that  was  the 
new  phase  of  it.  But  was  it  love?  Did  not 
that  type  of  woman  fall  in  love  with  every  man 
she  came  in  contact  with?  That  was  the  per- 
plexing thing  about  the  case.  God  had  put 
this  woman's  soul  into  his  hands,  but  mani- 
festly the  work  must  be  done  now  through 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  243 

someone  else.  Further  personal  contact  now 
was  out  of  the  question.  But  what  could  he 
do?  For  one  thing  he  could  telephone  down 
to  Mother  Brown  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing and  urge  her  to  throw  every  possible  in- 
fluence for  good  about  the  girl,  but  something 
else  was  needed.  Now  was  the  time  when  he 
might  use  his  church  institutions  to  real  advan- 
tage. If  the  women  of  his  committees  would 
only  gather  around  Isobel  Carniston  now  and 
give  the  girl  their  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment, if  they  would  but  use  all  efforts  to  in- 
struct her  and  stand  by  her  and  find  her  work 
to  do  and  enthusiasms  to  enter  upon,  she  might 
become  not  only  a  rescued  human  soul,  but  a 
living  power  in  the  Master's  Kingdom.  But 
the  church  was  out  of  the  question;  he  knew 
that.  Not  a  woman,  even  of  his  Mercy  and 
Help  Committee,  but  would  draw  back  from 
Isobel  Carniston  as  if  from  pollution.  The 
church  did  not  do  such  work. 

Then  there  came  to  him  what  Helda  Thost 
had  spoken  in  one  of  her  lectures.  The  words 
were  burned  into  his  memory: 

"The  pastor  of  the  modern  church  of  the 
cities  is  no  longer  the  interpreter  of  the  un- 
seen, prophet,  revealer,  seer.  That  work  is 
being  done  now  by  other  forces.  When  a 


244          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

priesthood  of  the  living  spirit  again  possesses 
the  churches  they  will  be  once  more  alive ;  they 
will  be  again  active  powers  in  the  world  of  pure 
spirit;  until  then  they  are  clubs  of  congenial 
souls  with  the  pastor  as  executive/' 

And  he  had  remembered  even  the  later  com- 
ment of  Dick: 

"The  heart  of  your  church,  Johnny,  lies  in 
the  parlor  and  the  kitchen.  This  is  the  modern 
version:  Praise  God  with  the  ham  sandwich; 
praise  Him  with  the  pumpkin  pie;  make  His 
praise  glorious  with  the  baked  beans  and  the 
hambone." 

All  this  had  cut  deep.  A  spirit  of  rebellion 
had  boiled  up  within  the  pastor.  As  the  head 
of  a  great  Christian  church  it  was  his  duty  to 
lead  and  not  be  led.  He  had  gone  home  that 
day  with  a  new  idea.  He  would  lay  before  his 
governing  body  a  plan  for  the  return  to  the 
spirit  of  Jesus  Christ.  He  would  propose  that 
the  church  be  divided  into  many  little  bands, 
like  Paul  and  Silas  and  Barnabas,  and  be  sent 
out  into  the  outlying  districts  to  do  practical, 
hand-to-hand  work  as  they  could.  His  first 
actual  move  had  been  to  call  a  meeting  of  the 
Ladies'  Society  to  organize  them  into  a  band 
of  mission  workers  for  the  slums.  The  meet- 


THE  NIGHT  OF  MAY  245 

ing  was  to  take  place  at  three  o'clock  the  next 
day,  and  he  was  sure  of  a  good  attendance  for 
he  had  not  only  announced  it  publicly  at  three 
different  times,  but  he  had  taken  the  pains  to 
send  each  member  a  personal  letter.  As  he  sat 
there  rocking  absorbedly  in  his  study  chair  the 
thought  flashed  upon  him  that  here  was  the 
first  work  that  the  committee  might  do.  He 
would  tell  them  with  power  the  story  of  Isobel 
Carniston  and  plan  with  them  the  steps  of  the 
girl's  future.  That  would  be  something  tangi- 
ble; that  would  be  work  for  God  that  even  the 
dullest  could  understand  and  appreciate;  and 
it  would  be  sure  to  bring  rich  and  abundant 
fruit.  He  would  begin  with  a  talk  on  preju- 
dice and  work  them  to  the  point  where  each 
would  cry  eagerly :  "Here  am  I ;  send  me." 

As  he  thought  of  it  more  and  more  the  glow 
came  back  into  his  life  and  things  became  nor- 
mal again.  The  girl  was  but  an  incident  in  a 
great  campaign.  He  lost  sight  of  her  com- 
pletely in  his  dream  of  the  new  church  of 
Christ, — the  church  of  practical,  hand-to-hand 
work  for  the  Master  of  all  work.  He  forgot 
the  roses  that  he  had  tossed  aside  as  he  had 
entered,  the  roses  still  glorious  in  their  physical 
beauty,  their  radiant  symmetry  and  youth. 


246          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

He  went  to  bed  serene  of  soul,  but  when  in  the 
morning  his  eye  fell  upon  the  roses  they  were 
limp  and  faded ;  their  sickly  odor  filled  him  with 
disgust;  and  he  swept  them  into  the  waste- 
basket. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LOVE    IS   THE    SOUL 

THE  soul  of  Isobel  Carniston,  dormant  so 
long,  had  awakened  at  a  shock,  full- 
fledged,  imperious,  and  had  found  itself  bound 
fast.  A  new  soul  it  was,  joyous  and  radiant, 
opening  its  young  eyes  upon  heaven  itself,  only 
to  realize  in  a  thrill  of  agony  that  ere  its  awak- 
ing it  had  been  damned  by  its  body  existence 
forever  to  be  cast  out. 

Which  is  hell. 

Thus  the  imago  is  doomed  mayhap  by  the 
gluttonous  worm  in  the  earlier  life;  thus 
the  child  is  damned  perchance  by  the  father 
in  the  life  before  this ;  thus  the  sensual  is  ever 
conceived  and  pampered  and  taught  before  the 
advent  of  the  spiritual,  which  must,  when  it 
comes,  pay  in  full  all  earlier  debts  and  carry 
into  the  new  life  every  previous  encumbrance. 

When  the  love  that  is  deathless,  which  is  the 
soul,  came  to  Isobel  Carniston,  it  came  as  all 
things  ever  came  to  her  imperious  heart.  It 
came  overwhelmingly,  and  it  beat  mightily 

247 


248          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

upon  all  the  barriers,  even  those  of  reserve. 
As  she  had  sinned,  so  she  loved,  and,  as  she 
had  joyed,  so  now  she  suffered.  Sharp  and 
sudden  had  come  to  her  the  true  perspective: 
heaven  had  been  in  her  hands;  she  had  been 
endowed  as  few  others  of  her  sex  to  win  the 
love  she  would;  she  had  gloried  in  her  power 
and  had  boasted  that  no  man  might  withstand 
her  will;  and  she  had  had  reason  for  her  con- 
fidence. Yet  now  when  had  come  the  love 
which  is  deathless  and  without  which  life  is 
death;  when  she  had  found  the  one  man  in  all 
the  world,  she  had  awakened  to  find  herself 
powerless.  And  she  understood  why,  for  now 
she  had  a  soul.  She  had  built  with  her  own 
hands  between  herself  and  him  she  loved  a  gulf 
impassable  forever. 

The  awakening  was  like  the  bursting  of  a 
tempest.  The  night  after  she  left  Gait  in  the 
park  she  had  spent  in  fierce  rebellion.  With 
all  her  wild  young  life  she  pounded  at  the  doors 
of  fate.  "It  must  not  be/'  she  had  stormed; 
"it  shall  not  be,"  and  in  her  agony  she  had 
challenged  the  world  and  the  God  who  made 
her  to  witness  the  injustice  that  had  been  done 
her.  She  would  not  yield,  she  would  not  cower 
into  silence,  she  would  fight  and  curse  and 
rage  and  go  down  only  after  she  had  been 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  249 

bludgeoned  and  stamped  and  ground  into  si- 
lence. 

Then  had  come  the  day  of  Mother  Brown. 

Hot  and  dishevelled,  worn  out  with  rage  and 
weeping,  her  eyes  swollen  and  her  cheeks  mot- 
tled and  stained,  the  girl  had  burst  into  her 
room  and  had  buried  her  face  in  her  bosom. 

"I  love  him/'  she  had  sobbed,  wildly.  "God 
help  me,  I  love  him/' 

"Why,  child,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Mr.  Gait,  and  he  hates  me." 

"Mr.  Gait?" 

"Yes,  and  he  despises  me.  I'm  nothing  to 
him  but  a  low  woman  just  to  be  saved.  And 
I  never  can  be, — never.  He  draws  back  when 
I  come  near  him,  as  if  I  was  a  snake.  He  hates 
me." 

"Why,  Mr.  Gait  doesn't  hate  a  person  in  this 
world." 

"He  said  little  children  ought  to  be  kept 
away  from  me,  that  nothing  that  was  decent 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  come  near  me,  that  I  was 
a  plague  spot." 

"Why,  girlie,  Mr.  Gait  never  said  that  in 
this  world.  You  misunderstood  him." 

"I  didn't.  He  said  it, — and,  my  God,  it's 
true.  Oh,  my  God!  And  I  can't  help  it. 
And  it's  too  late." 


250          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,  it's  not  too  late;  it's  never 
too  late  while  you  have  life  and  reason. 
There,  there,  poor  little  girlie,  don't  cry."  She 
gathered  her  into  her  arms  tight,  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  cheeks.  "It's  all  going  to 
be  right,"  she  whispered,  the  girl's  cheek 
pressed  hard  to  hers.  "Because  you  were 
thoughtless  a  little  while  isn't  going  to  ruin 
your  whole  life.  You  are  going  to  live  a  new, 
beautiful  life  now,  dearie,  and  people  are  going 
to  love  you,  and  the  past  is  all  going  to  be  for- 
gotten." 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand  it,"  she  wailed. 
"You  just  can't.  I  don't  care  what  people 
think ;  I  don't  care  what  anybody  in  this  whole 
world  cares  but  just  him.  I  want  him  to  think 
I'm  good,  and  he  can't,  never, — never.  It's 
too  late.  Oh,  I  never  shall  hear  anything  else 
again  until  I  die  but  what  he  said, — he  said  I 
must  see  myself  as  he  saw  me,  and,  oh,  my  God, 
I  do,  I  do." 

"But,  dear  one,  if  he  could  only  see  you  now 
it  would  be  different.  He  sees  with  the  Christ 
eyes." 

"But  that  doesn't  make  him  love  me.  That's 
•what  I  want;  that's  what  I'd  give  my  soul  for, 
— for  him  to  love  me." 

"You  mustn't  think  of  it  that  way,  dearie." 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  251 

She  stroked  the  soft  hair  that  wantoned  un- 
tended  over  her  shoulders  and  about  her  face, 
and  whispered  like  a  mother.  "That's  all 
wrong,  it's  wrong.  You  mustn't  think  of  lov- 
ing Mr.  Gait.  It's  not  right." 

"What  do  I  care  whether  it's  right  or  not, — 
what  do  I  care?"  she  blazed.  "I  didn't  do  it; 
I'm  not  to  blame;  it  came  to  me;  and  it's  the 
only  thing  in  this  whole  world  that  I  want.  I 
can't  reason  and  I  can't  think  and  I  can't  do 
anything  but  just  want  him.  I  didn't  do  it; 
I'm  not  to  blame.  All  there  is  for  me  is  to  die, 
and  I'm  going  to." 

"No,  no,  no!" 

"What  else  is  there?  I  won't  live,"  she 
stormed.  "If  I  was  an  angel  he  wouldn't  love 
me.  It's  just  fate." 

"Why,  darling!" 

"He  wouldn't, — he  couldn't,  for,  oh,  my  God, 
he  loves  another  woman!"  She  put  her  hands 
upon  her  face  and  burst  into  hysterical  weep- 
ing. 

"Don't,  little  one,  oh,  please  don't."  She 
clasped  her  still  tighter  as  if  the  girl  might 
break  away  and  leave  her.  For  a  long  time 
neither  spoke. 

"I  saw  it,"  she  said,  at  length,  her  voice 
shaking  with  sobs.  "I  know  it.  He  worships 


252          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

her  with  his  eyes,  and  she  isn't  beautiful  a  bit, 
only  just  good.  I  could  see  it.  He  cares  for 
that, — that's  beauty  to  him,  and  he  worships 
her,  and  I  know  how  he  looks  at  me.  Oh,  I 
can't  bear  it, — I  can't, — I  won't." 

Mother  Brown  was  silent,  for  she  knew  in 
her  soul  that  there  is  no  hell  like  this,  and  what 
can  one  say  when  one  looks  into  hell?  All  of 
tragedy  centres  about  this  culminating  horror : 
the  waking  of  the  soul  too  late,  the  vision  of 
the  past  as  irrevocably  past,  the  realization  of 
what  might  have  been.  Fate  and  destiny  and 
hell  are  only  short  ways  for  saying  that  the 
past  is  forever  beyond  recall.  Over  every 
heartbreak  one  may  carve  Wordsworth's  lines : 

"Nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
Of  splendor  to  the  grass,  of  glory  to  the  flower." 

And  Mother  Brown  knew  more  than  this, 
that  there  is  no  birth  without  agony  and  that  a 
soul  was  on  its  way  in  a  woman's  life. 

"Oh,  you  can't  understand."  The  storm 
had  worn  itself  out  by  its  very  violence.  "You 
don't  know ;  you  can't  realize.  You  have  lived 
all  your  life  so  sweet  and  calm  and  good  that 
you  don't  know  how  it  feels.  Oh,  I  wish  for 
one  minute  you  knew,  only  one  minute — " 

"Wait,  little  one.     Don't  say  that  to  me." 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  253 

There  was  a  ring  in  the  old  voice  that  silenced 
the  girl  and  caused  her  to  look  up  quickly.  "It 
is  you  who  do  not  realize.  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  something  that  I  have  told  to  few  human 
souls.  Look  at  me;  do  I  look  beautiful?  Do 
I  look  like  one  who  would  inflame  young  men  ? 
Perhaps  I  am  good  and  sweet  and  calm,  but  it 
isn't  because  I've  always  been  so.  I  wasn't 
always  old  and  gray  and  wrinkled.  I  was  as 
fair  as  you  are,  and  as  full  of  life.  I  loved  the 
bright  and  gay  things  just  as  you  loved  them, 
and  I  was  wild,  wilder  than  I  will  ever  tell  you. 
I  ruined  young  men.  I  didn't  care,  and  before 
I  knew  it  I  was  in  the  depths  that  you  know 
nothing  about.  I  suffered  as  you  never  have 
suffered.  For  a  year  I  was  an  outcast  in  the 
streets  of  a  great  city.  I  cursed  man  and  God 
and  I  jumped  into  the  river,  and  I  would  have 
died  but  for  the  hand  of  God  Himself.  Then  a 
man  like  Jesus  Himself — he's  with  God  years 
ago — a  missionary  of  the  streets,  found  me  and 
saved  me  as  a  brand  from  the  burning.  Oh,  I 
bless  God  that  he  has  been  so  good  to  me — " 
she  choked  and  broke  down  utterly.  By  a 
swift  impulse  the  girl  caught  her  in  her  arms. 
"Oh,  forgive  me,"  she  sobbed.  "I  never 
dreamed  it.  You're  an  angel — you're  better 
than  an  angel." 


254          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"No,  dear,  I'm  only  a  poor  weak  woman  who 
has  been  trying  all  her  life  to  forget, — just  try- 
ing to  forget." 

For  a  time  there  was  silence  in  the  room. 
The  words  seemed  to  thrill  the  girl.  By  and 
by  she  heard  the  old  voice  whispering  in  her 
ear: 

"Do  you  know,  I  think  God  sent  this  love  to 
you?  If  it  is  a  pure  love,  I  know  He  did.  It's 
sent  to  save  you,  dear  one.  It's  the  Christ 
within  him  that  you  are  in  love  with." 

"No,  no,"  she  burst  out.  "It's  not;  indeed, 
it's  not.  I  want  him;  oh,  how  I  want  him!" 
She  looked  up  into  the  old  face  like  a  wistful 
child. 

Mother  Brown  did  not  speak.  She  looked 
into  the  young  eyes  and  she  sighed.  It  was  a 
penitent  woman  that  she  saw,  a  woman  who  at 
last  had  found  her  soul.  There  was  hope. 
She  had  learned  to  the  full  the  limits  of  her 
weakness  and  for  that  very  reason  was  strong. 
She  saw  more:  she  saw  a  woman  who  would 
give  to  the  man  she  loved  everything  she  had, 
even  this  new  soul  that  had  cost  her  such 
agony. 

"No,  my  little  girl,  not  that,"  the  old  voice 
whispered  after  a  time.  "You  don't  want  him. 
You  wouldn't  marry  him  even  if  he  begged  it. 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  255 

You  couldn't,  dearie.  Don't  you  see  that  all 
your  life  long  you  would  know  that  he  knew? 
We  women  can't  forget.  A  woman  may  think 
she  can,  but  she  can't.  She  may  give  her  soul, 
but  she  can't.  There  is  a  wound  that  never 
heals  and  that  never  can  be  forgotten.  I 
know,  for  I  have  lived,  in  the  world.  But, 
dearie,"  she  breathed  the  words  in  the  girl's 
ear,  "did  you  ever  think  that  marriage  is  not 
all  there  is  to  love  ?  It's  the  smallest  part ;  it's 
the  selfish  part." 

"But  he's  so  strong  and  he  makes  me  feel  so 
strong.  I  could  do  anything  if  I  could  only  be 
with  him  all  the  time.  I'd  give  him  all  that  a 
woman  ever  gave  to  a  man.  I'd  worship  him, 
and  I'd  work  for  him  till  I  dropped  dead. 
When  he  goes  away  it  seems  as  if  everything 
that  is  good  and  strong  in  me  went  away, 
too." 

"Wait  a  moment,  dearie ;  think  just  one  mo- 
ment. What  have  you  got  in  common  with  this 
man  save  your  body,  which  you  know  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  real  love  ?  How  could  you  help 
him  ?  He  is  educated  and  spiritual.  What  do 
you  understand  of  his  life  and  his  work? 
Nothing,  absolutely.  Marriage  with  him, 
even  if  you  were  as  pure  as  an  angel,  would  be 
an  awful  thing.  It  would  ruin  your  love,  and 


256         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

it  might  ruin  both  of  your  lives.  Be  reason- 
able, little  girl.  There  is  for  you  absolutely 
but  one  thing  that  can  help  you — and  it  has 
taken  me  a  lifetime  to  learn  it — and  that  is  to 
be  unselfish  and  to  look  from  yourself  to  others. 
I  have  been  through  every  bit  of  it,  and  I  know. 
You  must  forget  this  thing  and  give  the  rest  of 
your  life  to  others." 

"But,  my  God,"  she  wailed,  in  utter  misery, 
"you  can't  argue  and  reason  when  you  love  a 
man, — when  you  really  love  him.  You  can't 
make  rules  and  lay  down  laws  when  love  is 
eating  the  very  heart  out  of  you.  All  that  I 
know  in  this  whole  world  and  all  I  care  is  just 
that  I  love  him,  and  that  I  would  die  to-morrow, 
I'd  die  a  thousand  times  if  he  would  love  me 
just  one  day, — just  an  hour;  if  he  would  look 
into  my  eyes  only  once  and  tell  me  that  he  loved 
me — that  he  really  loved  me — " 

"No,  no,  no."  The  old  voice  now  was  as 
cold  as  steel.  "I  mean  it;  you  have  got  to  kill 
this  thing.  You  must.  It's  impossible;  it  will 
ruin  you,  if  you  don't.  It's  as  hard  as  death 
to  do  it,  but  there's  absolutely  but  one  way  for 
women  like  us, — absolutely  but  one  way.  It 
will  take  your  whole  lifetime,  but  you  must. 
I  shall  hold  you.  If  you  go  wrong  now,  you 
will  take  me  with  you." 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  257 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  her 
in  sudden  eagerness.  "No,  no." 

"Come,  little  one,  with  me,"  she  whispered. 
"We'll  work  for  Him.  Come." 

The  girl  did  not  speak.  For  a  long  time  she 
sat  in  silence  while  the  old  voice  told  her  of  the 
only  way,  the  way  over  which  in  darkness  and 
struggle  and  tears  she  had  herself  worked  into 
the  light. 

That  night  again  she  tossed  in  sleepless 
agony.  Wide-eyed  she  lay  and  heard  the  clock 
strike  eleven  and  twelve  and  one  and  two. 
Then  she  arose  and  sat  for  a  time  at  the  window 
looking  into  the  night.  The  roar  of  the  city 
had  died  to  a  murmur;  the  warm  air  of  the 
spring  night  breathed  in  and  greeted  her  woo- 
ingly.  By  an  impulse  she  arose,  and  dressed 
herself  hastily,  and  stole  down  the  stairs. 
Swiftly  she  glided  down  the  side  street,  out 
into  the  main  avenue,  and  then  into  the  park. 
By  the  bench  in  the  angle  where  twice  she  had 
talked  with  him,  she  stopped  and  listened. 
There  was  no  hint  of  life  save  the  rumble  of 
distant  vehicles  and  the  confused  murmur  of 
the  streets. 

She  sank  upon  the  bench  with  her  head,  bare 
and  glorious  in  the  moonlight,  against  the  tree. 
Would  he  come  if  he  could  know  she  were 


258          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

there,  if  he  could  know  that  she  loved  him  with 
the  truest  love  a  woman  ever  gave  a  man? 
Would  he  come  if  he  could  see  her  now  beauti- 
ful in  the  night,  the  stain  of  her  past  blotted 
out, —  a  woman  with  a  woman's  soul  ?  It  was 
impossible.  He  could  never  come.  There  was 
a  wall  between  them,  and  it  was  forever. 

And  who  had  made  that  wall  ?  Why  should 
she  be  cast  out?  Why  for  a  moment's  sin 
should  she  be  damned  forever  without  chance 
for  atonement  or  appeal?  She  had  broken  no 
law  of  nature,  and  no  unpardonable  law  of  God. 
Christ  had  forgiven  utterly  the  adulterous 
woman.  And  would  He  not  forgive  her  if  He 
were  on  earth  again  and,  if  she  repented,  place 
her  where  she  might  have  been  had  she  never 
sinned?  Was  she  not  in  reality  as  pure  now 
as  ever  she  had  been, — a  woman  perfect  phys- 
ically, a  woman  magnificent  in  the  prime  of  her 
strength?  And  were  her  heart  and  mind  and 
soul  not  pure  now?  Had  she  not  repented  all 
that  woman  can  repent?  If  God  would  tell  her 
what  more  to  do,  would  she  not  do  it  to  the  ut- 
most? Why  continue  to  punish? 

She  bowed  herself  upon  the  bench  in  the  bit- 
terness of  her  soul. 

"My  God,"  she  cried  in  her  anguish,  "why 
are  you  doing  this  to  me?  You  are  not  fair. 


LOVE  IS  THE  SOUL  259 

I'm  sorry  and  I  won't  do  it  again,  never,  never. 
Oh,  won't  you  take  it  back?  Oh,  God,  I'm 
only  a  little  girl  and  I  didn't  realize — I  didn't 
know.  Oh,  I  want  to  be  good, — I  want  him. 
I  love  him ;  oh,  my  God,  how  I  love  him,  and  it's 
impossible,  impossible,  and  it's  forever!"  Her 
voice  died  into  a  wail  like  a  lost  child's. 

Oh,  the  pathos  of  it, — this  soul  that  had 
awaked  too  late,  this  woman  crying  in  utter 
agony  to  be  clean  again,  fallen  but  not  defaced, 
repentant  to  self-obliteration,  raising  her 
stained  breasts  from  the  mud  and  challenging 
the  God  who  made  her  to  tell  why  he  permitted 
such  a  thing  to  be. 

And  she  crept  back  through  the  morning  twi- 
light unsatisfied. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   OUTSIDE    OF   THE    CUP 

THE  gods  always  smile  most  sweetly  when 
they  are  drawing  back  to  smite ;  that  was 
Dick's  philosophy.     A  joyous  heart  should  be 
a  warning,  he  averred,  and  perfect  happiness 
should  fill  one  with  fear. 

On  the  morning  after  the  opera  Gait  was  in 
unusual  spirits.  It  was  the  day  on  which  he 
was  to  open  his  campaign.  He  found  himself 
going  over  and  over  the  arguments  he  was  to 
use  before  the  committee.  He  would  urge 
them  to  begin  with  a  summer  campaign,  and 
to  work  with  those  hundreds  of  waifs  and  puny 
little  children  who  never  leave  the  city  limits 
except  to  be  buried.  It  would  be  easy  to  win 
the  committee  on  that  theme.  Then  there  was 
the  project  of  founding  a  working  mission 
among  the  tenements,  to  be  carried  on  not  by 
hired  workers  but  by  the  members  of  his 
church.  There  could  be  a  reading-room  for 
the  boys  and  girls ;  there  could  be  a  kindergar- 
ten for  the  children  whose  mothers  had  to 

260 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     261 

work,  and  there  could  be  a  daily  prayer-meet- 
ing— the  idea  grew  upon  him  until  he  could 
hardly  wait  for  the  meeting.  It  would  be  a 
hand-to-hand  battle  for  Christ ;  it  would  be  the 
church  at  work  in  the  field,  which  is  the  world ; 
it  would  be  Applied  Christianity.  Applied 
Christianity, —  the  phrase  rang  true.  What 
other  kind  of  Christianity  could  there  be? 

This  central  ladies'  society  would  be  the  one 
to  organize  such  a  work.  He  could  depend 
upon  it.  From  the  first  it  had  been  his  most 
effective  working-organ.  With  its  aid  he  had 
refurnished  the  Sunday-school  room  and  had 
purchased  a  new  carpet  for  the  auditorium. 
Its  members  had  always  been  loyal  and  eager. 
"If  you  want  the  impossible  done,  ask  the  la- 
dies' society,"  had  become  an  adage  in  the 
church.  For  once,  however,  they  seemed  to 
have  failed.  At  three  o'clock  Gait  found  only 
one  member.  He  could  hardly  believe  his 
eyes. 

"Wasn't  it  three  o'clock,  Miss  Winston?" 
he  asked.  "Wasn't  this  the  hour?" 

"Yes,  this  is  the  hour,"  she  answered, 
sweetly.  She  was  a  black-eyed,  sprightly  little 
woman,  one  of  the  most  active  of  his  workers. 

"It's  the  weather,  I  suppose,"  he  laughed. 
"This  warm,  spring  weather  makes  us  all  move 


262          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

slowly.  They'll  come  in  a  moment,  of  course." 
But  after  ten  minutes  not  one  had  appeared. 

"Why,  I  don't  understand  this,"  he  said, 
wonderingly,  his  watch  in  his  hand.  "I  ex- 
pected every  member.  I  never  have  announced 
a  meeting  so  thoroughly." 

"They  should  have  come,"  she  answered, 
positively. 

"I'm  afraid  there  has  been  a  mistake — 
wait,  this  is  Wednesday,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  smiled. 

"I'm  awfully  disappointed.  I  was  going  to 
talk  over  a  plan  for  organizing  work  in  the 
poorer  districts.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  what 
I  had  seen  and  what  my  plan  of  relief  was." 

"Yes,  we  know." 

"Why — how?  Oh,  I  remember,  I  men- 
tioned it  to  Mrs.  Bailey.  It  is  a  work,  Miss 
Winston,  that  has  taken  a  great  hold  on  me 
lately.  Do  you  know,  there  are  places  only 
a  few  minutes'  walk  from  our  church  where 
the  children  are  coming  up  in  absolute  igno- 
rance of  the  Gospel?  It  is  like  the  jungles  of 
Africa.  They  ought  to  be  reached,  and  our 
people  ought  to  do  it.  There  ought  to  be  a  mis- 
sion Sunday-school  there,  at  the  very  least. 
A  live  church  is  a  working  church.  We  ought 
to  be  full  of  such  activities,  I  felt  sure  that 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     263 

the  ladies'  society  would  enter  into  this  work 
with  their  whole  souls.  What  do  you  think, 
Miss  Winston?" 

"I'm  afraid  they  won't  help  you,  Mr.  Gait," 
she  answered,  impulsively. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  He  turned 
and  looked  at  her  incredulously.  "Aren't  you 
ladies  in  sympathy  with  such  work?" 

"Oh,  don't  include  me,  Mr.  Gait,"  she 
laughed  in  a  nervous  way.  "I  really  should 
like  to  do  it.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it 
would  be  a  most  delightful  adventure  to  go 
into  the  slums  with  you,  but  the  others — "  she 
paused. 

"But  isn't  this  the  primary  work  of  the 
church?"  he  cried.  "Wasn't  it  for  just  this 
thing  that  the  church  was  organized?  Isn't 
this  the  church  of  Christ,  and  did  not  Christ 
do  his  work  with  the  suffering  and  the  out- 
cast and  the  poor  and  the  wicked, — hand  to 
hand?" 

"Oh,  I  realize  it,  perfectly,  but — well,  you 
know  they  say  we  are  doing  it  now.  The 
North  Street  Church  gives  more  per  member 
for  city  mission  work  than  any  other  church 
here.  Why,  two  years  ago  we  held  a  fair 
for  the  Bethany  Mission  and  cleared  five  thou- 
sand dollars." 


264          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"But,  Miss  Winston,  that  isn't  enough.  It 
needs  the  personal  touch.  Your  work  for 
Christ  can't  be  done  by  deputy.  You  must  go 
as  Christ  did,  personally,  with  love  and  sym- 
pathy and  real  help.  Christ  did  His  work 
without  any  money  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  disagreeing  with  you,  Mr. 
Gait."  She  laughed  nervously.  "I  believe  in 
it  with  all  my  heart.  I  am  only  giving  the 
church  standpoint.  You  ought  to  know  it. 
They  say  we  have  got  work  enough  right  here 
in  our  church.  They  say  the  church  is  organ- 
ized for  mutual  benefit  of  its  members,  Chris- 
tians banded  together  to  strengthen  one  an- 
other." She  hesitated  and  fumbled  with  her 
book,  nervously.  "Really,  Mr.  Gait — I  think 
I  ought  to  tell  you  just  what  they  are  saying. 
You  won't  take  it  wrong ;  you  won't  be  angry  ?" 
She  laughed  in  sheer  nervousness. 

"Angry?"  he  said,  wonderingly.  "Why 
should  I  be  angry?" 

"Because  it  may  surprise  you — because — 
I  should  want  you  to  do  it  for  me,  Mr.  Gait. 
It's  my  duty.  You  see  the  ladies, — some  of 
them, — think  your  interests  are  too  much  out- 
side the  church.  That's  what  they  are  say- 
ing." 

"Ah!" 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     265 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  went  on, 
with  increasing  boldness,  "they  say  that  your 
going  to  those  lectures  on  Theosophy  has  hurt 
the  church  more  than  anything  else  for  years, 
and,  then — well,  you've  been  seen  with — 
world's  people." 

"And  that  is  why  they  did  not  come  here?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is.  She  is  considered  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  enemies  the  church  has, — 
that  is  what  they  think.  She  has  drawn  away 
some  of  our  strongest  young  women,  Miss  All- 
ston,  for  instance." 

He  made  no  reply.  His  mind  was  going 
back  by  leaps  over  the  past  weeks.  This  was 
the  reason,  then,  why  the  work  had  gone  so 
hard.  He  sat  nervously  rocking,  as  was  his 
wont  when  he  was  thinking  hard.  His  eyes, 
narrowed  to  mere  points,  seemed  to  be  focussed 
on  things  miles  away  from  the  little  room. 

"Now  you  won't  misunderstand  me,  will 
you,  Mr.  Gait?"  she  went  on,  watching  him 
nervously  to  see  how  he  was  taking  it.  "I  am 
only  telling  you  what  people  say,  and  you  ought 
to  know  these  things.  It's  only  for  your  good. 
And  there's  another  thing — "  she  paused  in 
an  embarrassed  way. 

"Yes?"  he  said,  absently. 

"All   the   people   are   talking   about — what 


266          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

happened,  you  know,  last  night."  She  finished 
the  sentence  with  a  little  gasp. 

"Last  night?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  mean  with  Mademoiselle 
Thost,  but —  You  wanted  to  know  why  the 
ladies  did  not  come,  and  it  was  my  duty  to  tell 
you.  You  don't  blame  me — it  was  my  duty 
— you  haven't  anyone  to  tell  you  such  things." 
She  stopped  in  a  sort  of  panic. 

"We  might  as  well  adjourn,"  he  said,  sud- 
denly. "I  suppose  no  one  will  come  now." 

"No,"  she  assented. 

They  went  out  of  the  church  and  down  the 
street  together.  In  the  open  air  the  woman 
became  suddenly  voluble. 

"There  is  no  need  of  thinking  of  outside 
work,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  began,  earnestly.  "There 
is  so  much  to  do  in  the  church  that  it  almost 
makes  me  sick — things  you  know  that  must  be 
done.  We  must  have  new  chairs  for  the  pri- 
mary room  and  new  apparatus  for  the  gym- 
nasium and  new  magazines  and  papers  for  the 
reading-room.  And  then  there  is  the  mission- 
ary collection, — we  have  never  been  so  behind 
on  it.  It  is  all  of  two  hundred  behind  last  year. 
We  have  always  been  the  largest  in  the  city, 
but  last  year  you  know  the  Ash  Street  came 
within  five  dollars  of  us.  Really  I'll  live  on 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     267 

bread  and  water  before  I  see  them  taking  the 
lead.  I  hear  they  are  working  night  and  day, 
and  they'll  surely  beat  us  if  we  don't  strain 
every  nerve.  Then  there's  the  pastor's  salary, 
— I  think  we  shall  have  to  have  a  sale  for  it. 
It  has  never  come  so  hard  before.  Don't  you 
think  a  silver  shower  would  be  a  nice  idea? 
They  had  one  in  the  Ash  Street  and  cleared  nine 
hundred  dollars.  Or  we  could  have  a  fair, — I 
have  heard  how  a  church  in  Philadelphia  had 
an  autograph  sale.  They  sent  to  all  the  fa- 
mous people  for  letters  and  they  sold  the  letters 
at  auction.  It  was  a  real  success.  We  have 
got  to  do  something,  Mr.  Gait." 

She  paused  and  looked  up  at  him,  timidly. 
The  glance  seemed  to  reassure  her,  and  she 
went  on  with  her  breathless  recital. 

"You  haven't  any  idea  about  the  work  our 
ladies  are  doing, — it  always  comes  on  a  few, 
you  know.  Miss  Axton  is  positively  working 
herself  sick  with  the  reading-room,  and  Miss 
Wright  told  me  only  yesterday  that  the  sewing 
club  ought  to  have  five  women  to  push  it  instead 
of  one.  Then  Miss  Davis  has  enough  on  her 
hands  with  that  boys'  club  to  drive  two  women 
insane.  And  there  is  the  primary  department, 
with  poor  Miss  Penny  and  the  Woman's  Bible 
Class  with  Miss  Hunt.  Mrs.  Smith  and  Miss 


268          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Harness  have  the  Herald  to  get  out  every 
week,  Miss  Stearns  has  the  cooking  club,  and 
I  am  just  running  myself  sick  for  the  mission- 
ary collection." 

Again  she  paused  breathlessly. 

"I'm  afraid  we  are  doing  work  that  isn't 
counting  for  what  it  should,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"That's  just  it,  Mr.  Gait;  we  need  more  or- 
ganization right  here  in  the  church.  There  is 
absolutely  no  time  for  slum  work.  We  need 
you  every  minute,  Mr.  Gait.  There  are  five 
families  of  nice  people  who  have  just  moved  to 
town  and  we  mustn't  lose  them.  They  belong 
to  our  church,  but  they  say — at  least  I  heard 
that  one  of  them  said  so — that  they  will  go  over 
to  the  Ash  Street  if  you  do  not  call  on  them, 
and  we  can't  afford,  you  know,  to  lose  a  single 
member.  We  always  have  led  the  Ash  Street 
and  we  must  strain  every  nerve  not  to  lose 
ground." 

"But,  sister,  is  it  right  to  be  thinking  only 
of  numbers  and  amounts?  Christ's  work  is 
more  than  that !" 

"Oh,  I  know.  It's  on  my  heart  every  mo- 
ment ;  I  can't  hardly  sleep  nights.  You'll  call, 
won't  you,  Mr.  Gait,  and  you'll  help  us  make  up 
this  missionary  amount  before  the  first  of  the 
month?"  There  was  a  coaxing  tone  in  her 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     269 

voice  now.  "Oh,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  looked  up  at 
him  with  sudden  animation.  "Won't  you 
preach  a  missionary  sermon, — a  real  stirring 
one?  You  can, — you  can  be  so  eloquent  if 
you  want  to.  Just  arouse  their  pride.  Tell 
them  of  the  magnificent  record  of  the  old  North 
Street,  and  then  tell  them  that  we  are  in  danger 
of  falling  to  second  place.  That  will  arouse 
them.  Won't  you,  Mr.  Gait?  And  then  if  I 
give  you  a  list  of  those  who  have  fallen  off  in 
their  subscriptions  from  last  year,  won't  you 
call  on  them  personally  and  prod  them  up? 
You  have  to  do  it,  you  know.  I'll  bring  it  to 
prayer-meeting  this  evening.  Won't  you?" 
She  turned  a  pleading  face  up  at  him  and 
smiled. 

"I'll  attend  to  the  matter,"  he  said,  almost 
curtly.  Then  there  was  silence. 

At  Main  Street  their  paths  diverged.  The 
pastor  began  to  walk  briskly ;  his  mood  was  tu- 
multuous. The  words  of  Dick,  spoken  weeks 
before,  came  flashing  to  his  mind : 

"Johnny,  remember  that  your  job  depends  on 
a  little  bunch  of  old  maids.  You'll  hold  it  as 
long  as  you  can  hold  them.  Keep  them  pleased 
and  you  are  all  right,  but  lose  your  hold  of  them 
one  minute  and  your  goose  is  cooked  browner 
than  an  oyster.  You  think  you  are  working 


2/0         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

for  Jesus  Christ,  but  in  reality  you  are  working 
for  ten  or  fifteen  women  who  are  as  jealous  as 
a  third  wife.  You  keep  your  eye  on  them, 
Johnny ;  when  they  begin  to  fall  off  that's  your 
barometer  going  down.  And  remember  this: 
prize-fighters  and  preachers  never  come  back." 

Suddenly  the  day  had  changed  its  face.  The 
pastor  had  caught  a  glimpse  into  the  heart  of 
his  church  as  if  a  flashlight  had  pierced  it. 

It  sent  him  to  his  room  in  a  tumult,  his  anger 
struggling  with  his  conscience. 

But  John  Gait's  day  had  only  begun. 

That  evening  after  prayer-meeting  the  offi- 
cials of  the  church  held  their  regular  monthly 
business  session.  The  church  prided  itself  on 
its  practical  methods.  For  years  it  had  been 
under  the  direct  control  of  Mr.  Bradley,  whose 
hobby  was  business.  "A  church  is  first  of  all 
an  organization,"  had  been  his  constant  cry, 
"and  it  should  be  run  precisely  like  any  other 
organization, — like  a  bank  or  a  department- 
store  or  a  railroad.  Poor  business  is  poor  re- 
ligion; and  poor  religion  is  poor  business. 
Look  close  to  the  finances;  have  a  responsible 
board  of  control ;  organize  the  work  and  follow 
sharp  after  the  workers ;  if  a  man  won't  or  can't 
do  the  work,  put  another  man  in  his  place ;  snap 
up  loose  ends ;  cut  off  waste ;  work  every  cent  of 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     271 

every  fund  until  it  is  time  to  pay  it  in ;  organize, 
watch,  check  every  weakness  before  it  has  time 
to  grow, —  that's  business,  and  it  applies  to  re- 
ligion just  as  much  as  it  does  to  groceries.  The 
church  that  does  not  run  on  these  lines  will  soon 
have  the  devil  for  receiver." 

This  was  Mr.  Bradley' s  philosophy,  and  he 
had  preached  it  for  thirty  years.  The  govern- 
ing body  of  the  church  he  called  his  "board  of 
directors"  until  no  one  thought  of  alluding  to 
it  by  any  other  name.  In  all  its  methods  he  ran 
it  precisely  as  if  it  were  his  own  bank  and  board 
of  directors.  It  was  business,  first  of  all. 
Frankness  and  outspoken  criticism  had  become 
a  tradition  of  the  body.  "Don't  conceal  weak- 
ness," had  been  the  chairman's  constant  cry. 
"If  you  know  of  poor  work  anywhere,  tell  about 
it,  let  it  cut  where  it  will.  Don't  hint  and  beat 
about  the  bush;  speak  right  out.  The  welfare 
of  the  whole  church  is  not  to  be  sacrificed  for 
the  feelings  of  any  one  man." 

The  pastor  dreaded  these  meetings  more 
than  anything  else  in  his  church  work.  The 
financial  discussions  depressed  him.  He  was 
made  aware  that  the  salary  came  in  small  drib- 
lets and  came  hard.  The  discussions  left  upon 
him  always  the  impression  that  the  money  was 
given  from  a  hard  sense  of  duty  or  from  a  fear 


272          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

of  Mrs.  Grundy  or  from  motives  that  placed  the 
pastor  among  objects  of  charity.  Once  they 
had  discussed  the  expedient  of  publishing  a  re- 
port of  just  how  much  each  member  was  giving 
so  that  some  might  be  shamed  into  giving  more. 
He  never  left  a  board  meeting  without  wishing 
in  his  heart  that  he  might  be  able  to  say  with 
Paul:  "Neither  did  I  eat  any  man's  bread  for 
naught;  but  wrought  with  labor  and  travail 
night  and  day  that  we  might  not  be  chargeable 
to  any  of  you." 

The  frankness,  too,  with  which  they  dis- 
cussed his  pastoral  methods  embarrassed  him. 
Their  suggestions  grated  upon  him.  The  de- 
vices which  they  suggested  for  keeping  up  the 
salary  and  the  attendance  and  the  interest;  the 
struggle  to  equal  or  excel  past  records  in  at- 
tendance and  collections  and  even  conversions ; 
the  careful  insistence  upon  the  visiting  of  mem- 
bers to  keep  them  satisfied, — all  this  disgusted 
him.  He  longed  for  earnest,  hand-to-hand 
helpers  in  an  unrecorded  struggle  against  dark- 
ness and  worldliness, — helpers  who  for  the  joy 
of  the  work  would  stand  about  him  and  show 
forth  the  beauties  and  the  rewards  of  the  Chris- 
tian life.  It  seemed  sometimes  to  the  young 
pastor  as  if  it  were  for  him  to  do  all  the  spirit- 
ual work  of  the  church  while  the  others  looked 


273 

on  and  urged  him  to  devote  his  whole  energies 
to  the  merely  material  business  of  keeping  the 
machine  in  movement. 

There  was  an  unusual  attendance  at  this 
May  meeting.  The  pastor  noted  several  in  the 
prayer-meeting  whose  faces  he  had  not  seen  be- 
fore for  a  month.  The  "ladies'  room"  where 
they  held  their  meetings  was  full  when  Mr. 
Bradley  rapped  for  order.  The  routine  work 
went  through  with  despatch,  until  the  point 
where  the  general  condition  of  the  church  came 
up  for  discussion.  Then  all  at  once  for  some 
reason  there  came  a  hush  so  complete  that  the 
ticking  of  the  vestry  clock  echoed  hollowly  in 
the  room.  Throughout  the  session  there  had 
seemed  in  some  way  an  unusual  tension  and  ex- 
pectancy. The  pastor  had  been  conscious  of  it. 
He  had  wondered,  in  a  vague  way,  but  he  had 
quickly  dismissed  the  matter  with  the  thought 
that  no  two  meetings  were  ever  alike.  Several 
cleared  their  throats  nervously.  Then  the 
chairman  began  in  his  incisive  way. 

"You  all  know  my  convictions  in  regard  to 
church  business,"  he  said,  importantly.  "Bal- 
ance your  books  every  day,  that's  my  motto; 
take  account  of  stock  every  time  you  can ;  and 
put  your  thumb  upon  the  leak  two  days  before 
it  begins.  That's  business,  and  it  applies  to 


274          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  church  precisely  as  much  as  it  does  to  the 
counting-room.  Now,  let's  balance  up.  As  I 
look  at  it  we've  run  behind  this  last  month  in 
every  department  of  our  church  work.  What's 
the  reason  ?  That's  a  business  question.  Mr. 
Gait,  have  you  noticed  it,  and  have  you  any 
solution?" 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed  it,"  the  pastor  said, 
slowly.  "The  work  has  gone  unusually  hard. 
It  may  be  possibly  the  unseasonable  weather. 
The  last  two  weeks  have  been  certainly  ener- 
vating." 

"The  weather  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
We  have  had  enervating  weather  before,"  the 
old  man  said,  with  decision. 

"Then  what  is  your  explanation?"  Gait 
asked,  after  a  moment  of  silence.  He  had  the 
vague  feeling  of  something  impending, — an 
avalanche  of  he  knew  not  what  hanging  above 
him  poised  so  that  a  single  word  might  bring 
it  down,  and  almost  in  spite  of  himself  he  was 
impelled  to  speak  that  word. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Gait,  what  the  church 
thinks."  The  avalanche  had  started.  "It's 
our  duty  to  tell  you.  This  is  the  clearing- 
house; this  is  the  family  circle;  this  is  the  heart 
of  the  church  where  we  must  speak  right  out, 
hit  where  it  may.  If  the  church  is  suffering, 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     275 

here  is  where  we  get  at  the  root  of  the  matter. 
Mr.  Gait/' — there  was  a  crackling  quality  to 
his  words.  He  came  down  with  emphasis  upon 
certain  expressions  and  his  sentences  ended  ex- 
plosively— "They  tell  me  that  you  have  been  a 
patron  of  this  Theosophist  woman  who  has  been 
stirring  up  the  town  these  past  few  weeks. 
They  say  you  have  attended  every  lecture  and 
have  given  her  your  influence  to  help  her. 
Have  we  been  rightly  informed  ?"  He  paused 
impressively  and  looked  at  the  pastor. 

For  a  moment,  so  suddenly  had  come  the 
charge,  Gait  was  unable  to  collect  himself.  He 
sat  speechless  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  ques- 
tion. Then  he  arose  in  a  dazed  way  to  his  feet. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  turning  himself  about 
and  facing  not  the  chairman  but  the  room. 
"Yes,  I  have  attended  the  greater  number  of 
Miss  Thost's  series  of  lectures." 

"And  something  like  a  dozen  of  our  most 
promising  young  church  members  have  gone 
with  you, — left  the  church?  Is  that  not  so?" 

"No  one  has  left  the  church ;  several  have  at- 
tended the  lectures." 

"When  one  begins  to  run  after  these  fan- 
tastic newnesses,  he  is  lost  to  the  church. 
They  are  no  longer  a  part  of  our  body;  they 
are  enemies  to  it."  The  old  man  crackled  out 


276         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  words  with  staccato  precision  like  a  judge 
saying  the  last  word  as  to  the  law.  "They  will 
become  certain  centres  of  contagion;- young 
women  are  peculiarly  susceptible  to  this  dis- 
ease; it  will  spread  through  our  whole  church. 
Instead  of  fighting  it  tooth  and  nail  as  Sister 
Bailey  advised  you,  you  have  encouraged  it, 
Mr.  Gait.  That  is  the  first  reason  why  the 
work  has  gone  hard,  but  there  is  another  thing 
that  has  been  far  more  damaging.  We  have 
got  to  be  frank  here ;  we  have  got  to  cut  to  the 
core  of  the  difficulty,  hurt  whom  it  may.  The 
church  is  the  supreme  thing  and  individuals 
are  as  nothing  when  she  is  concerned.  You 
will  remember,  Mr.  Gait,  that  last  winter  I 
warned  you  with  all  the  emphasis  in  my  power 
against  a  certain  piece  of  what  you  thought  was 
rescue  work.  I  told  you  to  drop  it  absolutely 
or  you  would  have  the  church  on  fire.  It  has 
come  to  me  that  you  have  disregarded  my  ad- 
vice, and  now  the  town  is  boiling  with  a  story 
that  will  injure  our  church  more  than  fifty  years 
of  work  will  ever  repair.  It  is  common  talk, 
Mr.  Gait,  that  you  took — we  won't  mince  mat- 
ters here — a  low  woman  to  the  theatre  last 
night  and  that  you  were  with  her  at  midnight 
at  a  public  restaurant,  and  then  that  you  went 
home  with  her  through  the  park.  Much  more 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     277 

than  this  is  reported, — things  that  I  know  to  be 
absolutely  true — but  I  won't  repeat  them.  It 
is  only  through  the  grace  of  God  if  the  whole 
matter  does  not  get  into  the  papers,  with  pic- 
tures of  the  church  and  the  pastor  and  the 
woman.  My  God,  think  of  that !" 

It  seemed  to  Gait  as  if  something  new  within 
him  awoke  with  a  bound.  The  hot  blood 
leaped  into  his  brain  and  blinded  him. 

"Mr.  Bradley,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  broke 
in  spite  of  himself.  "I'm  a  minister  of  the  gos- 
pel, but  I  am  also  a  man.  That  is  an  insult. 
That — that — "  he  stopped  unable  to  articulate. 

"No  insult  was  intended,  Mr.  Gait,"  the  old 
man  answered,  with  perfect  coolness.  "Far 
from  it,  sir.  We  are  simply  getting  at  the 
truth  of  this  matter  for  the  good  of  the  church 
— nothing  else.  You  did  not  take  the  girl  to 
the  theatre  ?" 

"I  did  not."  There  was  a  look  on  the  man's 
face  that  was  new  to  those  who  sat  there.  He 
stood  square-shouldered  and  square- jawed  and 
looked  them  firmly  in  the  eyes. 

"You  did  not  go  with  her  to  the  restaurant?" 

"I  went  to  Larry's  restaurant  with  my  col- 
lege roommate,  Dick  Paine,  and  his  sister  and 
Miss  Thost."  The  words  came  out  in  meas- 
ured precision.  The  man  was  in  control  of 


278         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

himself  now,  but  there  was  a  dangerous  light 
in  the  deep  eyes.  "As  we  were  sitting  at  our 
table  this  girl  came  to  me  for  protection.  She 
had  been  decoyed  from  the  mission,  where  I 
had  placed  her,  by  the  gang  that  had  been  her 
ruin,  but  she  had  strength  enough  to  break 
away  from  them  when  she  saw  me.  That 
gang,  which  has  been  the  undoing  and  death  of 
at  least  half  a  dozen  girls  in  this  city,  has  in  it 
several  of  our  own  church  members,  one  of 
them, — " 

"Wait,  Mr.  Gait,"  the  old  man  broke  in, 
sharply.  "That's  quite  beside  the  point.  We 
are  not  discussing  young  men's  wild  oats;  we 
are  not  dealing  with  personalities;  we  are  tak- 
ing up  this  matter  simply  and  solely  because 
what  you  have  done  harms  our  church."  He 
spoke  explosively,  and  he  made  heavy  gestures 
with  his  right  hand.  "As  the  pastor  of  our 
church,  not  as  man  but  as  pastor,  how  do  you 
explain  this,  that  in  the  shrubbery  of  the  park 
last  night  you  held  this  woman  in  your  arms 
and  that  she  gave  you  a  present  of  her  necklace 
and  her  bouquet?  That  is  known  to  be  a  fact, 
but  the  only  thing  that  concerns  us  in  the  mat- 
ter is  that  you  are  the  pastor  of  this  church 
and  any  criticism  of  you  is  a  blow  at  the  church 
of  Christ." 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     279 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Bradley."  The  pastor's 
thin  face  was  full  of  color  now.  He  stood  erect 
and  his  shoulders  were  very  square.  "What 
you  say  implies  things  that  are  simply  unspeak- 
able. If  the  church  thinks  that  of  me  then  it 
is  in  a  position  where  it  needs  to  cry  in  the  dust 
for  mercy  to  Almighty  God.  No  pastor  of  a 
Christian  church  ought  to  be  compelled  by  his 
members  to  answer  a  question  like  that.  I  will 
simply  say  this,  that  I  conducted  this  woman 
home  to  keep  her  from  the  clutches  of  a  gang 
of  what  I  have  heard  even  worldly  men  of  this 
city  call  Vultures/  The  woman  has  been  sick 
and  very  near  to  death.  She  had  been  over- 
excited and  she  had  overdone  and  in  the  park 
she  fainted.  I  caught  her  before  she  fell. 
These  vultures  were  evidently  following  us;  I 
passed  one  of  them,  you  know  very  well  whom, 
on  the  walk  three  minutes  later,  and  I  had  left 
him  ten  minutes  before  in  the  restaurant.  If 
there  are  stories  about  town  he  is  the  one  who 
started  them, — we  started  out  with  plain  talk 
and  we  are  going  to  have  plain  talk  right 
through.  I  have  done  in  this  matter  only  what 
Jesus  Christ  would  have  done  under  the  same 
circumstances, — not  one  of  you  can  dispute 
that.  My  conscience  is  clear  absolutely.  This 
woman's  life  was  thrown  by  God  into  my  path- 


280          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

way  to  be  saved,  and,  with  God's  help,  I  have 
done  my  best.  Ask  Mother  Brown  of  the 
Water  Street  Mission;  she  will  tell  you  that  the 
woman  is  now  on  the  road  to  a  new  and  useful 
life.  She  will  tell  you  that  by  Christ's  help 
the  woman,  low  as  she  was,  has  been  saved, 
and  when  she  says  that  she  knows." 

"We'll  grant  you,  sir,  that  the  woman  is  now 
an  angel."  Trie  old  man's  face  was  flushed 
now  and  blue  cords  stood  out  on  his  temples. 
His  words  came  out  with  a  hiss  of  sarcasm. 
"Is  the  saving  of  her  worth  the  destruction  of 
the  whole  North  Street  Church  ?" 

"If  the  saving  of  a  human  soul  that  was  dead 
in  sin  is  going  to  wreck  the  church,  then  the 
sooner  it  is  wrecked  the  better." 

"Mr.  Gait."  There  was  a  snarl  in  the  voice. 
"Your  position  may  be  quixotic  but  it  is  abso- 
lutely unpractical.  Do  you  realize  what  a  vile 
woman  is  ?  You  can't  touch  pitch  without  be- 
ing denied.  There  is  not  a  man  in  this  city 
but  will  tell  you  that  that  woman  is  a  centre  of 
corruption  and  beyond  all  help.  I  told  you 
that.  You  are  simply  deluding  yourself.  You 
are  playing  with  fire.  In  spite  of  all  your  ro- 
mantic notions,  every  time  you  are  seen  walk- 
ing with  such  a  woman  you  are  weakening  your 
influence  in  this  city.  You  are  not  living  in 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     281 

any  Utopia,  you  are  not  sailing  in  a  world  of 
rosy  clouds,  you  are  living  in  a  modern  city 
which  understands  thoroughly  this  type  of 
woman.  If  you  keep  on  we  might  as  well  dis- 
band the  church.  Our  influence  is  gone." 

"Do  you  find  that  in  the  four  Gospels,  Mr. 
Bradley?" 

"Yes,  sir,  if  you  read  the  four  Gospels  with 
common  sense." 

"Then  I  understand,  sir,  that  I  am  to  ap- 
proach no  one  but  respectable  people  ?"  There 
was  a  dangerous  quality  in  the  pastor's  voice. 
"The  pastor  of  a  church,  then,  has  no  business 
to  come  into  the  presence  of  actual  sinners  ?" 

"I  mean  only  this,"  the  old  man  exploded. 
"The  church  simply  will  not  sit  and  see  you 
walking  day  by  day  with  prostitutes ;  that's  the 
whole  matter,  and  it  is  common  sense.  What 
do  you  say,  Brother  Allston?" 

"I  am  afraid  Mr.  Gait  does  not  understand 
city  life,"  a  thin  little  man  piped  up,  feebly. 

"Perhaps  not,  but  I  know  Christ's  conception 
of  city  life."  The  pastor  was  aroused  now. 
His  eyes  in  their  deep  sockets  were  like  coals  in 
ashes  that  have  been  blown.  He  leaned  far 
over  his  seat  and  shook  a  thin  finger  in  their 
faces.  "He  did  not  reject  the  vile,  or  refuse  to 
be  seen  with  them,  and  the  church  to-day  is 


282          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

simply  the  modern  presence  of  Jesus  Christ  still 
in  the  world.  If  the  church  is  not  touching 
every  day,  not  by  proxy  but  hand  to  hand,  such 
human  need  as  this  woman's,  then  God  help  it. 
It  has  become  simply  an  exclusive  club." 

There  was  a  movement  about  the  room. 
These  members  had  really  never  seen  their  pas- 
tor before,  and  in  most  of  them  a  new  respect 
was  beginning  to  arise.  The  rapt  spirituality 
of  the  man,  his  gentleness,  and  his  vision  had 
by  many  of  them  been  considered  as  effeminacy. 
He  had  been  classified  as  an  eloquent  orator, 
"strong  with  the  ladies."  Mr.  Ashcraft,  the 
joker  of  the  congregation,  had  once  remarked 
that  there  are  three  genders :  men,  women,  and 
ministers,  and  that  he  was  in  doubt  as  to  which 
of  the  last  two  Gait  belonged.  But  as  the  pas- 
tor faced  them  now  with  the  wrath  of  the  old 
prophets  in  his  eyes  there  could  be  no  doubt. 

"We  need  to  go  deeper,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice 
that  thrilled  them.  "We  need  the  fire  of  Al- 
mighty God  to  touch  our  membership.  The 
church  is  listening  to  the  voice  of  the  world 
and  it  is  losing  its  old  power.  Its  ideals  that 
once  mounted  to  the  skies  on  the  wings  of  spirit 
are  now  grovelling  in  worldliness.  The  sin  of 
this  woman  is  not  alone  this  woman's  sin;  it 


THE  OUTSIDE  OF  THE  CUP     283 

rests  with  mountain  weight  upon  those  who 
brought  her  ruin.  A  woman  like  her  is  pure 
compared  with  the  monsters  who,  brought  up  in 
homes  that  should  have  been  full  of  Jesus 
Christ,  deliberately  set  out  to  compass  her  fall 
though  they  knew  it  would  cost  her  life  and  her 
soul.  Brothers  of  the  Church  of  God,  as  Chris- 
tians it  is  our  duty  to  cleanse  instantly  these 
centres  of  pollution;  to  put  our  hands  on  the 
shoulders  of  these  young  men  and  say,  'In  the 
name  of  God,  halt!'  This  woman's  blood  is 
upon  every  one  of  your  souls.  Go  home  and 
pray  with  your  lips  in  the  dust  that  it  be  re- 
moved, that  the  spirit  of  the  Living  God  may 
come  again  into  His  church,  and  that  the  homes 
that  it  represents  may  become  as  in  the  days  of 
the  fathers  centres  of  power  for  Jesus  Christ. 
Mr.  Bradley,  I  am  not  serving  you ;  I  am  serv- 
ing Jesus  Christ.  I  shall  take  orders  only  from 
Him." 

He  sat  down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  for  a  moment  there  was  absolute  silence. 
Then  a  voice  that  sounded  strangely  loud  spoke 
out: 

"I  move  that  we  drop  this  and  pass  to  the 
next  article  of  business." 

There  was  an  instant  "Second."     The  chair- 


284         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

man  hesitated,  but  a  cry  of  "Question"  decided 
him.     The  motion  was  carried. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  meeting  adjourned,  but 
Gait  had  disappeared  into  the  night  before  any- 
one could  speak  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FOOTBALLS   OF   THE   GODS 

AS  Gait  plunged  down  the  evening  street 
after  the  adjournment  of  the  committee 
he  was  in  a  frame  of  mind  that  was  near  to  re- 
bellion. He  had  been  reprimanded  by  his 
church  for  doing  the  very  work  for  which  the 
church  had  been  founded.  He  was  to  follow 
Jesus  Christ  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  not 
to  come  into  contact  with  sinful  men.  The 
church  would  bind  him  hand  and  foot ;  it  would 
waste  his  energies  in  trivial  details;  it  would 
keep  him  ever  in  an  atmosphere  that  would 
dampen  his  enthusiasm  and  dim  his  vision. 
The  spirit  of  revolt  which  had  been  gathering 
for  months  within  him  burst  suddenly  into 
flame.  He  would  no  longer  endure  it.  He 
would  break  loose  as  Christ  had  broken  loose; 
he  would  throw  himself,  as  Christ  had  thrown 
himself,  unfettered  and  alone  into  the  centres 
of  sin,  and  work  with  his  whole  soul.  That 

would  be  joy.     His  old  dream  of  Christian 

285 


286          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

work  done  for  the  Christ  in  Christ's  own  way 
was  possible  yet. 

He  did  not  go  to  his  room;  he  walked  rap- 
idly; his  mood  demanded  it.  The  first  hotness 
of  his  indignation  after  a  time  subsided,  but  in 
place  of  it  there  began  to  come  an  intolerable 
sense  of  loneliness.  The  impulse  to  share  is 
fundamental  in  every  human  heart.  The  soul 
gropes  inevitably  for  another  soul.  Whole 
great  areas  of  the  world's  heartache  come 
from  sheer  loneliness,  from  a  starving  hunger 
for  someone  who  will  comprehend,  and  sympa- 
thize, and  share.  He  thought  of  Dick,  but  Dick 
had  left  town  in  the  early  morning  to  go  on 
with  the  great  case  of  Vibert  vs.  Sewell,  which 
had  been  holding  him  for  two  weeks.  There 
was  no  one  in  his  church  who  would  under- 
stand him,  no  one  indeed  in  the  whole  city, 
unless  perhaps  it  might  be  Mother  Brown. 
He  was  alone  as  Christ  had  been  alone.  Helda 
Thost, — the  thought  came  with  a  throb  of  the 
heart.  Helda  Thost  would  understand. 

He  turned  as  if  someone  had  called  him. 
It  was  nine  o'clock — early  yet.  He  would  call 
a  moment  and  tell  her  the  whole  miserable  story 
and  ask  her  advice.  She  would  understand 
him ;  she  would  see  the  whole  matter  with  clear 
eyes.  He  began  to  walk  almost  with  eager- 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS      287 

ness.  The  quiet  and  poise  of  that  upper  room 
would  soothe  his  troubled  spirit  and  bring  him 
to  himself.  Once  he  might  have  debated  and 
wrestled  with  his  conscience,  but  not  now.  He 
needed  her. 

Miss  Paine  answered  his  ring. 

"Why,  it  is  Mr.  Gait,"  she  said,  wonderingly. 

"Isn't  it  strange?"  Miss  Thost  suddenly 
materialized  out  of  the  shadows.  "I  was  think- 
ing of  you  only  this  moment,  Mr.  Gait.  Come 
right  in." 

"And  why  is  it  strange  ?"  he  asked,  laughing 
he  knew  not  why. 

"It  is  not."  She  changed  her  tone  with 
swiftness.  "It  is  mere  commonplace.  The  ab- 
sence of  it  is  the  thing  that  would  be  strange. 
Take  this  seat,  Mr.  Gait." 

He  dropped  into  the  great  chair,  and  all  in  a 
moment  the  anger  and  the  sense  of  outrage  of 
the  earlier  evening  faded  away  as  if  it  had  not 
been.  What  a  contrast  between  the  serene  at- 
mosphere of  this  marvellous  apartment  and  the 
strident  stuffiness  of  that  room  he  had  so  lately 
quitted.  Her  personality  seemed  to  pervade  it 
all  like  a  perfume.  The  books  that  lay  as  they 
had  fallen  from  her  hand,  the  bits  of  manu- 
script, the  music,  the  foreign-looking  pam- 
phlets,— everything  seemed  to  him  to  breathe 


288          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

distinction  and  feminine  daintiness.  She  took 
a  seat  very  near  him  in  the  shadow.  He  could 
see  her  only  dimly,  but  his  own  face  was  in  the 
light.  For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  He  was 
surrendering  himself  to  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
"When  we  can  read  human  souls  as  we  read 
books/'  she  said  at  last,  in  musing  tone,  "there 
will  be  no  more  books.  And  the  time  will  come ; 
indeed  it  is  here  now. 

'Thy  soul  is  a  book 
And  the  world  can  look 

And  read,  if  it  hold  but  the  key/  " 

"Ah,  but  the  key?" 

"Lies  in  every  soul." 

"We  call  it  telepathy,  do  we  not  ?"  Miss  Paine 
asked,  intensely. 

"It  is  more,  far  more.  The  soul  is  a  force, 
the  most  tremendous  in  the  universe.  It  pene- 
trates all  things.  We  stand  every  moment  in 
fields  of  awful  energy,  with  forces  more  active 
than  radium  playing  upon  us.  Our  lives  are 
driven  hither  and  thither  by  these  viewless 
powers.  Devils  and  angels  are  only  active 
thoughts;  and  fate  is  only  another  name  for 
malignant  soul.  When  we  have  the  key  and 
can  read  these  messages  we  shall  revise  all  our 
sciences.  When  all  souls  at  last  are  completely 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS     289 

in  tune  then  will  all  the  universe  be  a  single 
soul." 

"That  will  never  be." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  almost  here.  Who 
told  you  to  come  to-night  ?" 

"Why — no  one,"  he  stammered,  taken  off  his 
guard  by  the  strangeness  of  the  question.  "I 
simply  came." 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  said,  simply. 

"You  knew?" 

"I  knew:     And  shall  I  tell  you  more  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  faintly,  his  eyes  on  the  dim 
outline  of  her  face. 

"You  are  at  a  crisis  in  your  work, — is  it  not 
so  ?  You  are  in  revolt  against  the  spirit  of  your 
church.  They  are  unspiritual ;  they  are  bound 
by  tradition  and  convention.  They  hold  you  to 
limits  that  cramp  your  soul  and  fetter  your 
hands.  When  I  called  you — " 

"When  you  called  me  ?" 

"Yes.  Your  soul  was  crying,  'I  will  break 
loose ;  I  will  go  into  the  streets  and  work  with 
the  fallen.'  Is  it  not  so?" 

"And  I  meant  it,"  he  said,  as  if  she  had  been 
present  with  him  the  whole  evening.  "The 
only  reason  why  the  church  was  founded  at  all 
was  to  do  just  those  things  that  they  reproved 
me  for  doing.  A  pastor  must  be  an  exemplar 


290         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

of  Jesus  Christ  and  nothing  else.  'These 
things  have  I  done  to  be  an  example  to  you/ ' 

"Ah,  I  fear,  Mr.  Gait,  that  the  church  no 
longer  leads  in  the  life  of  the  spirit."  She 
looked  at  him  almost  reproachfully.  "It  does 
not  seek  prophets  now;  it  seeks  advocates  to 
defend  against  critics  and  echoes  to  repeat  the 
beliefs  of  the  membership  and  entertainers  to 
make  church-going  worth  while  and  executives 
to  keep  moving  its  social  system.  There  is  no 
longer  direct  vision.  Is  it  not  so?" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair 
and  tried  to  look  into  the  shadows  where  she 
sat  like  a  prophetess  looking  into  his  soul. 

"Nevertheless,  do  not  leave  them,  Mr.  Gait," 
she  said,  slowly. 

"But  they  fetter  me,"  he  cried.  "They  tie 
my  hands." 

"If  the  church  is  dark  there  is  all  the  more 
reason  for  you  to  illumine  it.  Work  where  you 
are.  Anyone  can  run  away." 

"But  they  keep  me  ever  on  the  lower  levels." 

"Think  not  of  yourself;  think  of  them,"  she 
whispered. 

"I  know,"  he  pleaded,  "but  it  is  impossible 
to  do  my  best  there." 

"It  is  not  impossible,"  she  said,  softly,  "not 
with  you.  You  are  a  prophet,  Mr.  Gait.  Of 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS     291 

all  the  souls  I  have  ever  met  yours  is  the  most 
sensitive.  You  have  helped  me;  you  will  help 
them.  Compel  them  to  see;  lift  them  into  the 
larger  life, — the  soul  life, — it  is  within  you.  I 
know  it, — T,  you,  and  God  can  understand  each 
other/  'God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whis- 
pers in  the  ear.'  It  is  for  me,  for  you,  to  bring 
vision,  not  to  someone  indefinitely  far  away, 
but  to  those  who  are  nearest  to  us  now, — your 
church,  your  officials,  your  dullest  soul.  It  is 
only  thus  that  the  kingdom  of  soul  is  to  be  en- 
larged and  the  day  brought  near  when  the  uni- 
verse is  but  a  single  soul.  Let  the  world  buzz 
on;  it  cannot  ruffle  us  unless  we  will,  and  we 
may  bring  it  a  vision.  Do  you  know  Abt 
Vogler, — I  mean  the  soul  of  it?  Let  me  read 
it."  She  opened  a  book  that  lay  at  hand  and 
began  with  fullness  the  resonant  monologue : 

"Would  that  the  structure  brave,  the  manifold  music 
I  build." 

He  listened  breathless.  The  reading  brought 
a  new  tone  into  her  voice,  a  deep  alto  that 
swelled  with  the  music  of  the  verse  and  brought 
out  to  the  full  its  ringing  cadences.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  never  heard  the  poem  until 
now;  it  thrilled  to  his  finger  tips.  As  he  sat 
and  watched  her,  her  face  aglow  with  the  mes- 


292          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

sage  of  the  poet,  it  came  to  him  like  a  discovery 
that  she  was  the  rarest  personality  he  had  ever 
known,  a  woman  of  true  heroic  mold,  mentally 
and  spiritually,  a  Heloise  or  a  Hypatia,  com- 
pellingly  and  daintily  feminine.  How  clearly 
she  saw  beyond  the  range  of  his  seeing  and 
shook  him  and  thrilled  him  with  her  vision! 
When  she  had  finished  he  sat  silent,  the  spell  of 
her  voice  strong  upon  him. 

"It  ends  with  the  whole  organ  in  full  voice," 
she  said,  tremblingly,  after  a  tense  moment. 
"What  a  burst  of  triumph : 

"  'Therefore  to  whom  turn  I  but  to  thee,  the  ineffable 
Name?'" 

"A  climax  indeed !"  he  echoed. 

"O  Miss  Helda,  read  us  that  from  Yeats," 
Miss  Paine  spoke  up  eagerly.  "That  poem  you 
quoted  last  evening : 

'I  could  make  you  ride  upon  the  winds, 
Run  on  the  top  of  the  disheveled  tide 
And  dance  upon  the  mountains  like  a  flame.'  " 

When  Gait  went  home  an  hour  later  the 
struggle  and  the  bitterness  of  the  early  evening 
were  as  far  away  as  if  they  had  never  been. 
Truly  are  we  footballs  of  the  gods.  Another 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS     293 

battle  was  raging  now  in  the  pastor's  soul,  one 
that  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  Mr. 
Bradley  or  the  Board  or  the  North  Street 
Church.  He  had  seen  Helda  Thost.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  a  flood  gate  had  opened,  there  had 
surged  upon  him  the  knowledge  that  he  loved 
this  woman,  that  he  had  loved  her  from  the 
first  moment  he  had  ever  seen  her.  It  swept 
over  him  like  a  torrent;  it  filled  him  first  with 
joy  and  then  with  fear  and  then  with  misgiv- 
ing. It  was  impossible  of  course  that  a  woman 
like  her  should  ever  think  of  any  man  in  terms 
of  mere  love.  To  her  he  was  only  a  soul.  And 
yet  had  she  not  called  out  to  him  across  the 
night  as  he  had  wandered  in  bitterness  of  heart, 
and  had  he  not  heard  her  ?  Had  she  not  called 
him  the  most  sensitive  soul  that  had  ever 
touched  her  life,  and  had  she  not  said,  'I,  you, 
and  God  can  understand  each  other'  ?" 

In  the  first  rapture  of  it  his  heart  beat  fast. 
What  more  could  there  be  of  joy  than  to  be 
forever  in  the  presence  of  that  serene  soul,  to 
hear  the  music  of  her  voice,  and  to  listen  as  she 
talked  of  the  meaning  of  life?  Had  they  not 
been  mated  by  God  Himself, — not  two  kindred 
souls,  but  one  soul  that  had  been  parted  and 
that  now  was  to  be  no  longer  two  but  one? 
That  was  her  philosophy  of  the  soul. 


294          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

It  was  impossible.  The  Puritan  within  him 
awoke  into  fierce  life.  Even  if  the  miracle 
should  come  and  he  should  find  that  she  cared 
for  him,  it  was  impossible.  A  man  even  at  the 
call  of  love  does  not  all  in  a  moment  throw  over- 
board the  training  and  the  ideals  of  his  whole 
life.  By  his  church  this  woman  was  consid- 
ered a  positive  enemy.  From  every  churchly 
standpoint  union  with  her  was  inconceivable. 
In  reality  she  was  a  pagan  and  the  disseminator 
of  paganism.  She  was  stronger  than  he;  her 
personality  was  more  compelling ;  should  he  be 
with  her  long  he  would  inevitably  lose  his  vision 
of  Jesus  Christ  and  all  the  ideals  that  clustered 
about  that  marvellous  experience  at  Northfield 
in  the  long  ago.  It  was  impossible.  And  yet 
was  it  impossible?  Thus  he  struggled  and 
argued  and  hoped  and  feared.  A  man  really 
in  love  does  not  argue:  he  acts, — blindly,  irre- 
sistibly. But  when  as  with  Gait  conscience 
through  long  nursing  has  become  abnormal, 
and  introspection  has  become  the  habit  of  the 
life,  the  rule  does  not  apply. 

A  knock  at  the  door  at  eleven  sent  him  into 
a  flutter.  There  had  been  a  time,  and  that  not 
long  before,  when  such  a  knock  late  at  night 
would  have  aroused  only  curiosity  in  the  pastor, 
but  life  had  become  complex  of  late.  Before  he 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS      295 

could  speak  the  door  was  burst  open  and  Dick 
came  puffing  in  as  if  after  a  run. 

"Why,  Dick,  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  to 
get  back  as  soon  as  this." 

"Why,  we  got  'em,  Johnny.  We  won  out/' 
he  called,  boyishly. 

"Won  out?" 

"Yes,  the  Vibert  case.  The  jury  came  in 
just  an  hour  ago.  I  got  the  wire  on  my  way 
up.  Thought  you  ought  to  know  it;  great  old 
fight,  Johnny." 

"Why,  then  I  congratulate  you." 

"By  Jove,  you  ought  to,  Johnny.  It  was 
pulling  the  old  man  right  out  of  the  fire.  He 
didn't  have  any  case,  and  at  one  time  I  wouldn't 
have  given  ten  cents  for  his  show,  but  we  just 
had  to  win.  It  was  up  to  us,  you  see." 

"I  haven't  seen  you  for  two  weeks,  Dick. 
Take  a  chair.  It  seems  good  to  have  you 
here." 

"You  won't  see  me  for  two  weeks  more. 
Another  case  coming  right  on  and  it's  a  corker, 
— VanHorn  vs.  VanHorn, — divorce  case  and 
money  no  object.  Watch  me,  Johnny;  it's 
going  to  be  a  hot  old  time.  After  that  I  am 
going  to  take  a  vacation.  When  are  you  going 
to  take  yours  ?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  take  any,  Dick." 


296          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Hello-o-o!  What's  this?"  He  jerked  the 
match  stump  into  the  wastebasket  and"  looked 
sharply  at  the  pastor  through  the  first  white 
puffs  of  smoke.  "Why,  you're  looking  like  the 
devil,  Johnny.  What's  struck  you?" 

"Nothing,  Dick;  my  health  was  never  bet- 
ter. It's  possible  perhaps  that  I  may  have  been 
working  a  little  hard  of  late." 

"Pshaw!  Nonsense!  Work  never  killed 
anybody.  It  isn't  a  woman,  is  it?"  He  took 
out  his  cigar  and  looked  at  Gait  critically. 
"Know  how  I  Sherlocked  that?  Very  simple, 
my  dear  Watson.  A  young  fellow  like  you  gets 
short-circuited  for  just  three  reasons:  off  his 
diet,  money  friction,  a  woman.  You've  denied 
the  first;  the  old  North  pays  its  bills, — there- 
fore. See,  Johnny  ?  Now  the  question  is,  who 
is  it  and  what's  the  trouble  ?  'Fess  up,  Johnny. 
Cussed  old  maid  down  there  I'll  bet  my  hat. 
Oh,  they've  been  after  you  for  a  year  with  all 
the  tackle  known  to  the  sport.  I've  seen  it  and 
I've  warned  you.  Or  say,  perhaps  the  Queen 
Isobella  romance  has  reached  a  new  chapter. 
The  girl's  versatile,  Johnny." 

"Yes,  it  has  reached  a  new  chapter,"  the  pas- 
tor said,  absently. 

"Ah,  it's  coming.  Go  on,  Johnny.  It's  just 
what  I  thought." 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS     297 

"There's  really  nothing  to  tell." 

"Out  with  it,  Johnny.  But  say,  I'll  bet  I  can 
describe  the  whole  play.  It's  plain  as  daylight. 
Old  Bradley's  worked  a  flying  tackle  on  you; 
he  heard  about  that  affair  down  to  Larry's  last 
night  and  got  through  ten  yards.  Is  that 
right?" 

The  pastor  nodded. 

"And  he  slammed  you  down  so  they  had  to 
call  time." 

"He  reproved  me  before  the  Board,  but  really 
I  suppose  I  was  indiscreet  in  the  matter." 

"Oh,  damn! — pardon  me,  Johnny."  He 
brought  his  feet  down  hard  from  the  chair  rung 
and  turned  upon  Gait.  "Did  you  tell  that 
board  that  Jim  Bradley  is  the  leader  of  this 
thing?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  thunder!  Johnny,  you  make  me  sick. 
And  you  didn't  serve  notice  then  and  there  that 
you  were  going  to  turn  him  out  of  the  church 
in  fifteen  minutes  and  Mayor  Rice's  son,  and 
Anson  Blake?" 

"No." 

"Johnny,  it's  just  as  I  said,  you  haven't  got 
hell  enough  in  you  to  run  a  church." 

"What  good  would  it  do,  Dick?" 

'"Good?     Good? — Say,   Johnny,   words   fail 


m  298         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

me  without  drawing  on  a  vocabulary  you  don't 
approve  of." 

"Don't  draw  on  it,  Dick." 

"Johnny,  the  difference  between  a  minister 
and  a  man  is  right  here ;  insult  a  man  and  he'll 
knock  you  down ;  insult  a  minister  and  he'll  go 
home  and  brood  over  it  three  weeks  and  do 
nothing.  You  lack  action,  Johnny;  you  sit 
humped  up  too  much  over  that  desk  and  theo- 
rize on  life.  You  want  to  wake  up  and  get  into 
every  play.  You  want  to  go  down  to  your 
church  and  turn  out  thirty  members  to-morrow 
no  matter  what  their  pull  is.  For  God's  sake 
don't  sit  and  analyze  and  argue  and  brood ;  get 
into  the  line  and  buck  like  Teddy  R.  I'll  bet  a 
dollar,  Johnny,  if  ever  you  fall  in  love  with  a 
woman  instead  of  going  right  straight  to  her  as 
a  man  does  you'll  sit  in  your  study  a  month  and 
debate  the  matter,  and  then  wake  up  to  find  that 
she  married  a  man.  What  do  you  care  what 
they  think;  do  your  work,  and  let  'em  buzz." 

"That's  just  what  she  told  me,"  he  mur- 
mured, absently. 

"She?" 

"Miss  Thost  gave  me  almost  that  same  ad- 
vice. She  said,  'Let  them  buzz;  they  can't 
ruffle  you  unless  you  will/  But  it  is  hard, 


FOOTBALLS  OF  THE  GODS      299 

Dick,  to  accomplish  anything  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. It's  different  in  business ;  you  can 
compel  men  there  and  force  your  policies,  but 
in  the  church  you  -have  to  lead  men.  All  you 
can  do  is  to  call,  and  if  they  do  not  follow  you 
have  no  redress.  The  moment  the  membership 
loses  confidence  in  the  pastor,  the  church  be- 
gins to  decline,  and  there  is  no  way  to  force 
it  up." 

"You  went  to  Miss  Thost?"  Dick  was  eyeing 
the  pastor  sharply. 

"Yes." 

"After  the  meeting  of  the  Board?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  told  her  all  about  it, — talked  it  all 
over?" 

"Why,  yes,  she  asked  me  about  it — I  couldn't 
help  telling  her — "  He  stopped  with  the  sen- 
tence unfinished. 

"Well,  I'll  be—"  Dick  arose,  flipped  his 
cigar  into  the  fireplace,  and  went  to  the  window. 
For  a  time  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  Dick 
was  the  first  to  speak.  / 

"This  is  a  queer  world,  Johnny,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "Demnition  queer." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dick?" 

"Nothing.     Good  night." 


300         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"You  are  not  going,  Dick?  Why,  what's 
your  hurry  ?" 

The  man  did  not  answer.  He  closed  the 
door  accurately  behind  him  and  was  gone  into 
the  night. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   ETERNAL   TWO 

GALT  had  the  rare  gift,  by  some  called 
weakness  and  by  others  strength,  o£  see- 
ing the  standpoint  of  the  other  side  as  clearly 
as  he  did  his  own.  Sometimes  he  thought  he 
saw  it  more  clearly.  He  was  therefore  no 
fighter.  It  was  not  in  him  to  take  the  lead  in 
any  struggle  and  push  it  to  an  uncompromising 
end,  for  to  be  a  powerful  leader  one  must  be 
convinced  that  the  other  side  is  utterly  wrong. 
His  first  rule  in  any  case  of  controversy  was 
to  put  himself,  as  far  as  his  imagination  would 
allow  him,  in  the  other  side's  position  and  to 
view  the  case  calmly  from  this  standpoint.  He 
did  this  now. 

After  Dick's  steps  had  ceased  to  echo  down 
the  corridor  he  began  slowly  to  pace  the  room, 
his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets.  The  church  was 
right.  He  had  betrayed  his  trust;  he  had  en- 
couraged militant  forces  against  God's  people 
and  had  led  weak  ones  of  the  flock  into  positive 
error.  And  now  like  a  fool  he  had  become  in- 

301 


302          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

fatuated  with  this  woman,  this  priestess  who 
professed  to  have  something  better  than  the 
church  of  Jesus  Christ.  "Other  foundation 
shall  no  man  build  save  that  which  is  built 
which  is  Jesus  Christ."  No  wonder  they  had 
rebuked  him.  And  yet — .  Hour  after  hour 
he  had  argued  and  agonized  and  prayed,  but 
as  the  morning  broke  and  the  robins  began  in 
the  park  maples  he  had  won.  The  morning 
had  restored  his  soul.  He  had  torn  this  woman 
from  his  life.  He  would  see  her  no  more.  He 
would  be  true  to  his  first  love,  the  Church  of 
Jesus  Christ ;  he  would  throw  his  whole  life  now 
into  her  work ;  he  would  take  Dick's  advice  and 
hereafter  lead  his  people  with  power ;  it  should 
now  be  his  one  aim  to  lead  them  from  the  wil- 
derness of  dead  churchism  out  into  the  vast 
places  of  the  soul,  out  into  a  full  and  working 
knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ. 

While  he  was  yet  on  his  knees  with  the  morn- 
ing twilight  on  his  face  he  had  chosen  his  text 
for  the  Sunday  sermon ;  before  breakfast  he  had 
planned  the  complete  outline, — a  Savonarola 
sermon  that  was  to  be  his  declaration  of 
independence.  He  would  begin  with  vigor. 
Henceforth  he  would  lead  his  church. 

The  news  that  he  had  defied  Alderman  Brad- 
ley before  the  open  meeting  and  had  compelled 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  303 

the  Board  to  support  his  position,  aroused  the 
church  as  nothing  had  done  before  for  years. 
At  last  they  had  a  leader.  On  Sunday  morn- 
ing the  audience  room  was  packed  to  the  doors, 
and  those  who  had  come  for  sensation  received 
it.  He  told  them  what  he  had  done,  and  then 
with  power  he  defended  his  position.  He  be- 
gan by  outlining  the  sphere  of  the  church. 
With  increasing  earnestness  he  dwelt  upon  its 
holy  fundamentals,  its  glorious  history,  its  im- 
mortal roll  of  heroes,  its  radiant  possibilities. 
Then  he  traced  the  causes  of  its  decline  in 
power. 

"Come  out  from  among  them  and  be  ye  sepa- 
rate," he  cried.  "Be  holy,  saith  the  Lord,  as  I 
am  Holy.  There  is  no  other  standard  for  the 
church  of  Jesus  Christ.  But  now,  God  help  us, 
we  are  losing  the  heavenly  vision.  It  has  come 
to  the  point  where  true  seekers  after  spiritual 
truth,  bow  blindly  at  non-Christian  shrines,  or 
bow  not  at  all.  God  is  still  God,  and  if  He  be 
ruled  out  of  the  church  He  will  still  be  found. 
We  are  losing  the  heavenly  vision.  We  are  di- 
vided into  camps  that  outlaw  and  anathematize 
each  other.  We  waste  our  energies  upon  that 
which  is  not  spiritual  bread.  We  have  erected 
church  machinery  that  absorbs  all  the  power. 
Back  to  Jesus  Christ,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  ablaze, 


304          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

his  face  flushed  with  the  fires  of  the  old  proph- 
ets. "Back  to  the  simple  godliness  of  the 
fathers ;  back  to  the  faith  that  will  not  shrink, 
that  will  suffer  and  toil  and  work  with  the  poor 
and  the  sinful  and  the  lowly,  and  that  will  look 
up  through  self-denial  and  struggle  into  the 
smiling  face  of  God." 

That  was  the  key  to  the  work  of  the  next  two 
weeks.  He  threw  himself  completely  into  his 
task.  He  brought  new  vigor  into  his  prayer- 
meeting  and  his  Bible  Class;  he  called  on  each 
one  of  his  influential  members  and  ended  each 
call  with  prayer;  he  worked  upon  his  sermons 
far  into  the  night, — every  moment  he  used  to 
the  utmost.  And  the  church  began  to  respond ; 
the  committees  began  to  rally  about  him  again. 
His  rebuke,  they  whispered  among  themselves, 
had  done  him  good.  It  had  waked  him  up. 
His  trouble  after  all  had  been  only  a  lack  of 
knowledge  of  city  life,  and  now  his  eyes  were 
open.  After  all  he  had  real  fighting  blood  in 
him,  and  he  was  a  man.  His  stand  before  the 
board  had  made  friends  for  him,  friends  of 
many  who  before  had  considered  him  goody- 
goody  and  effeminate. 

The  audiences  continued  to  fill  the  church. 
But  there  was  electricity  in  the  air.  Mr.  Brad- 
ley and  his  circle  were  full  of  smoldering  anger. 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  305 

As  yet  he  had  said  nothing,  and,  to  those  who 
knew,  the  silence  was  ominous.  Fires  were 
smoldering.  And  there  were  other  fires  of 
which  the  church  has  no  suspicion.  The  love 
that  had  awakened  so  imperiously  at  the  sound 
of  a  voice  was  not  a  thing  to  vanish  at  the  mere 
bidding  of  reason  or  even  as  an  answer  to 
prayer.  It  was  not  to  be  smothered  out  by  the 
heaping  on  of  work,  or  to  be  kept  down  by  a 
deluge  of  Bible  texts,  or  starved  out  by  a  keep- 
ing away  from  even  the  suggestion  of  its  object. 
The  battle  seemed  to  grow  fiercer  after  every 
victory.  He  could  hold  his  ground  only  by  liv- 
ing a  day  at  a  time, — an  hour  at  a  time,  not 
daring  to  look  ahead  a  moment;  and  as  he 
fought,  the  better  element  of  his  church  board 
were  whispering  of  the  potency  of  their  single 
reproof  and  rubbing  their  hands  in  approval  of 
their  wisdom,  unconscious  that  their  every  act 
for  a  year  had  been  weakening  the  man  for  the 
struggle  that  was  to  be  the  crisis  of  his  life. 

It  was  mid  June  when  one  Friday  evening  he 
found  among  his  mail  an  unusual  little  envel- 
ope. He  held  it  in  his  hand  curiously.  He  had 
never  received  a  letter  just  like  it  before.  The 
stationery  had  a  foreign  look  and  the  hand- 
writing and  the  seal  were  wholly  strange, — an 
inscription  in  what  seemed  to  be  Sanscrit.  This 


306         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

must  be — his  heart  fluttered  suddenly  in  his 
throat;  his  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  cut  the 
envelope.  It  was  from  Helda  Thost.  He  had 
never  seen  her  writing  before.  How  like  her  it 
was, — distinctive,  daintily  feminine ! 

"DEAR  MR.  GALT  : 

"I  am  writing  this  hastily  to  bid  you  good- 
by.  I  have  closed  my  lectures  and  shall  leave 
for  Boston  this  afternoon.  On  Tuesday  I  sail 
for  Liverpool.  I  was  surprised  and  pained  that 
you  did  not  finish  the  course.  You  had  helped 
me;  I  felt  that  you  could  understand,  and  it 
kept  me  ever  at  my  best.  I  trust  that  you  will 
not  wholly  forget  our  studies  together  and  that 
some  time  we  may  be  able  to  look  deeper  into  the 
life  of  the  soul  which  it  is  the  work  of  both  of 
our  lives  to  reveal.  Again  bidding  you  good- 
by,  I  wish  you 

"God  speed  in  your  soul's  life. 
"HELDA  THOST." 

He  read  the  note  twice  over  and  then  began 
to  pace  the  floor.  What  could  have  brought  a 
sudden  move  like  this?  She  had  said  nothing 
to  him  about  closing  her  lectures.  Somehow  it 
had  seemed  to  him  as  if  they  might  go  on  al- 
ways, and  that  he  might,  if  he  wished,  resume 
the  course  at  any  time. 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  307 

"Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday,  Tuesday,"  he 
counted.  The  boat  would  doubtless  sail  Tues- 
day noon.  But  perhaps  she  would  sail  from 
New  York.  Automatically  he  pulled  out  his 
watch :  ten-thirty  Friday  evening.  Then  again 
he  paced  the  floor  with  nervous  steps. 

He  had  reached  the  crisis  of  his  life.  He 
loved  this  woman;  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
soul  he  loved  her, — there  was  no  escaping  it. 
It  was  useless  to  blind  himself.  He  loved  this 
woman  who  to  his  church  was  very  Antichrist, 
an  adventuress,  a  denouncer  of  all  that  his  life 
thus  far  had  stood  for.  Love  could  mean  only 
marriage,  and  marriage  with  this  woman 
would  mean  an  utter  break  with  his  church. 
And  even  if  they  did  allow  it,  she  was  fitted  in 
no  way  to  be  a  pastor's  wife;  she  was  out  of 
sympathy  with  every  duty  connected  with  such 
a  station.  She  held  her  own  ideas  with  te- 
nacity. Her  religion  was  her  profession, — her 
life.  She  would  never  surrender  it  or  modify 
it;  indeed  she  had  once  said  that  the  ideals  of 
his  church  were  pitifully  small  and  narrow  com- 
pared with  those  that  she  professed.  If  there 
were  to  be  yielding  it  would  be  he  who  would 
yield.  And  in  the  face  of  all  this  he  loved  her ; 
there  was  no  escaping  the  tremendous  fact 
that  he  loved  her. 


3o8         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Up  and  down  the  floor  he  paced,  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  his  head  bent  low.  He  heard 
the  clock  strike  twelve  and  one,  and  still  he 
paced  restlessly  back  and  forth.  He  went  out 
on  the  balcony  upon  which  his  room  opened 
and  stood  for  a  time  in  the  cool  night  air ;  then 
he  went  in,  threw  his  Bible  open  at  random 
and  put  his  finger  blindly  on  the  page: — "Thy 
faith  hath  saved  thee;  go  in  peace."  The 
passage  made  his  heart  beat  faster.  It  seemed 
for  the  moment  like  the  voice  of  God. 

Why  should  he  renounce  this  woman  whom 
he  loved?  She  was  worthy.  She  was  a 
woman  above  any  who  had  condemned  her, 
sweet-souled,  beautiful,  and  other-worldly  be- 
yond all  whom  he  had  ever  known.  Her  very 
presence  uplifted  him.  To  be  with  her  always, 
this  radiant,  spiritual  woman,  how  it  would  lift 
and  ennoble  him !  She  would  bring  out  all  the 
best  that  was  within  him ;  they  would  work  to- 
gether, soul  and  soul,  and  rise  together,  and 
understand  each  other  in  the  harmony  of  union. 
That  poem  of  Edwin  Arnold's, — it  had  burned 
itself  into  his  brain: 

"Somewhere  there  waiteth  in  this  world  of  ours 
For  one  lone  soul  another  lonely  soul, 

Each  chasing  each  through  all  the  weary  hours, 
And  meeting  strangely  at  some  sudden  goal, 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  309 

Then  blend  they,  like  green  leaves  with  golden  flowers, 
Into  one  beautiful  and  perfect  whole. 

And  life's  long  night  is  ended,  and  the  way 
Lies  open  onward  to  eternal  day." 

"O  my  God,  my  Christ,"  he  cried  upon  his 
knees,  in  agony  of  supplication.  "Show  me 
what  to  do.  If  my  love  is  wrong,  tell  me  so 
now,  and  I  will  surrender  it,  I  will  crucify  it, 
I  will  tear  it  out  of  my  heart  if  it  tears  away 
my  life." 

And  again  as  the  morning  broke  he  won  the 
battle.  Utterly  spent,  he  threw  himself  into 
his  bed  and  it  was  seven  when  he  awoke.  Au- 
tomatically he  went  to  breakfast  and  then 
sat  down  at  his  desk.  He  would  complete 
his  sermon.  But  the  first  paper  that  his  eye 
fell  upon  was  her  letter,  open  as  he  had  thrown 
it  down  the  evening  before.  He  read  it 
straight  through,  and  then  arose  to  his  feet 
with  decision.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  took  his  pocketbook  from  a  drawer,  closed 
his  desk  and  locked  it,  threw  his  Bible  and  a  few 
clothes  into  his  hand-bag  and  left  the  room. 

At  nine  o'clock  when  he  started  for  the  rail- 
road station  there  was  no  trace  of  struggle. 
He  had  passed  a  busy  hour.  He  had  got  into 
communication  with  a  seminary  student  who 
would  take  his  work  on  Sunday,  he  had  tele- 


310          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

phoned  to  Mr.  Bailey,  secretary  of  the  Board, 
that  he  had  decided  suddenly  to  leave  town  for 
a  day  or  two,  but  that  he  had  provided  for  his 
work,  and  now  he  had  ten  minutes  in  which  to 
catch  his  train. 

There  is  no  one  who  has  not  at  some  time 
been  swept  along  by  an  impulse  that  seemed 
irresistible.  To  Gait  it  was  as  if  a  voice  had 
called  him  and  he  had  obeyed  it  blindly  and  ab- 
solutely. It  was  like  that  night  when  he  had 
stopped  on  the  street  and  then  had  walked 
eagerly  to  Helda  Thost's.  And  she  had  told 
him  then  that  she  had  called  him.  Perhaps  she 
was  calling  him  now. 

And  as  he  walked  through  the  June  morning 
a  great  joy  seemed  to  burst  upon  him.  Why 
had  he  hesitated  at  all?  He  was  answering 
one  by  one  his  questions  of  the  darkness  with 
a  sort  of  wonder  at  their  simplicity.  Why 
had  he  fought  himself  and  wasted  a  night's 
sleep  as  if  he  had  been  meditating  a  crime  ?  It 
was  no  sin  to  love  a  woman  and  to  woo  her 
with  his  whole  soul  and  to  win  her  if  it  were 
possible.  Dick  had  been  right;  conscientious- 
ness had  become  with  him  a  disease.  When 
one  loves  a  pure,  true  woman  with  his  whole  life 
and  soul  there  is  only  one  thing  that  is  possible. 
He  had  been  fighting  the  empty  air;  he  had 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  311 

been  wasting  precious  time.  It  was  not  too 
late  even  now ;  he  would  win  her  yet.  He  felt 
like  shouting  aloud,  his  spirits  in  the  blue  like 
skylarks.  For  all  things,  indeed,  are  bright 
and  possible  and  altogether  desirable  when 
one  is  twenty-nine  and  loves  a  lady  fair  and 
goes  wooing  her  on  a  June  morning. 

"Good  morning,  pastor."  He  started  al- 
most guiltily.  "Travelling,  this  morning?" 
It  was  Mr.  Crawford  of  the  Board,  one  of  the 
Bradley  sympathizers. 

"Why — ah — yes.     I'm  going  to  Boston." 

"Someone  sick  or  dead?" 

"Oh,  no,  indeed, — private  business.  But  I 
have  made  arrangements  for  the  service  to- 
morrow. I  have  communicated  with  Mr.  Bai- 
ley." He  pulled  his  watch  out  nervously. 
"But  I  must  catch  my  train." 

He  hastened  away  almost  rudely.  Somehow 
within  the  moment  the  day  had  changed  its 
face.  His  little  explanation  hurt  his  con- 
science. He  rushed  into  the  station,  bought 
his  ticket,  and  reached  the  platform  just  as  the 
conductor  was  waving  his  hand  to  start.  The 
car  was  well  filled.  He  cast  a  searching  glance 
over  the  crowded  seats  and  suddenly  found 
himself  looking  down  into  the  eyes  of  Isobel 
Carniston.  She  seemed  to  recoil  from  him 


312          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

as  from  a  blow  and  her  cheeks  flushed  scarlet. 
Then  she  turned  in  confusion  to  look  out  of  the 
window. 

"Why,  Miss  Carniston,  this  is  a  surprise," 
he  exclaimed.  "I  had  not  thought  to  see  you. 
Shall  I  share  your  seat?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"You  are  well?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you." 

"And  Mother  Brown  is  well?" 

"Yes." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  She  seemed 
confused  and  diffident;  she  kept  her  face  from 
him,  and  spoke  in  a  constrained  voice. 

"Are  you  travelling  far?"  he  asked,  after  a 
silence. 

"To  Boston." 

"Indeed!  I  am  going  to  Boston,  too.  You 
return,  I  suppose,  to-night?" 

"I  am  never  going  to  return,"  she  burst  out, 
harshly. 

"Ah!"  What  had  happened?  There  was 
bitterness  in  her  voice,  and  her  whole  manner 
had  been  different  from  anything  he  had  seen 
in  her  before.  She  still  kept  her  face  turned 
from  him,  but  he  could  see  the  flush  on  her 
cheek.  "Never  going  to  return?"  he  echoed. 

"No." 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  313 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  sister?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Does  Mother  Brown  know  this?"  He 
leaned  toward  her  to  look  into  her  face.  Some- 
thing had  happened. 

"No." 

"You  ran  away  without  her  knowledge?" 

"I  am  no  child,"  she  said,  with  painful  dis- 
tinctness. "I  decided  to  go  to  Boston  and  I 
am  on  my  way  there.  That  is  all." 

"But  why  do  you  go  to  Boston  ?"  He  leaned 
far  over  and  whispered  the  words  intensely  in 
her  ear.  A  feeling  almost  of  consternation 
came  over  him;  he  was  responsible  for  this 
woman,  and  she  had  almost  escaped  him. 

A  hot  answer  evidently  came  to  the  tip  of  her 
tongue,  but  she  thought  better  of  it  and  said 
nothing. 

"You  are  going  to  work  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do."  The 
words  came  out  impetuously.  "And  I  don't 
care.  I  can  find  something  to  do.  I  always 
have,  and  it  doesn't  make  the  slightest  differ- 
ence to  me  what  it  is." 

"Why — why,  what  has  happened?"  He  was 
looking  at  her  with  wide  eyes.  He  was  sitting 
very  close  to  her  now,  his  hand  on  the  seat  in 
front  as  if  she  might  elude  him.  Plainly  he 


314          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

had  come  in  the  very  nick  of  time.  He  had 
almost  lost  her.  But  for  this  accident,  or  this 
guiding  of  God,  he  would  never  have  seen  her 
again. 

"Nothing  whatever  has  happened  save  that  I 
am  going  to  Boston/'  she  said,  accurately. 

"But  you  were  at  the  Mission — I  had  thought 
of  you  as  learning — " 

"You  had  thought  nothing  about  it." 

"Indeed,  Miss  Carniston — " 

"You  cared  nothing  about  it."  There  was 
the  harshness  in  her  voice  that  he  had  heard 
on  that  first  night  that  he  had  known  her. 
"You  could  have  helped  me,  but  you  didn't. 
You  knew  perfectly  well  they  would  be  after  me 
every  moment;  you  knew  they  would  send  me 
flowers  and  presents  and  write  to  me  and  come 
after  me  with  automobiles,  and  you  never  came 
near  me,  and  you  never  helped  me.  And  you 
say  you  thought  of  me.  Pshaw!" 

"You  are  right,"  he  cried,  a  great  light 
breaking  over  him.  "I've  done  wrong;  I've 
neglected  you;  I  see  it  now.  God  help  me,  I 
didn't  realize ;  I  never  once  thought  they  would 
still  trouble  you.  But  I  have  had  my  own 
troubles,  sister."  He  bent  over  her  in  his  ear- 
nestness, a  great  tenderness  in  his  voice. 
"God  knows  I  have  cared,  but  my  work  has  al- 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  3*5 

most  overwhelmed  me.  I,  too,  have  been  trou- 
bled, deeply  troubled." 

She  did  not  speak.  The  anger  had  swept 
from  her  face  like  a  shadow.  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  swift  glance,  and  then  fell  to 
fumbling  with  her  gloves  in  her  lap. 

"You"  will  go  back  now,  won't  you?"  he 
pleaded.  "You  won't  go  to  Boston  now,  will 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  faintly. 

"Promise  me  you'll  go  back  to  Mother 
Brown's,"  he  urged  with  intenseness.  "We 
can't  have  you  lost  in  Boston,  or  anywhere. 
We  want  you  with  us  where  we  can  help  you 
and  we'll  help  you  just  all  that's  in  our  power, 
— indeed  we  will.  Promise  me." 

"I  can't  go  back,"  she  said,  looking  up  ap- 
pealingly  and  then  dropping  her  glance  again 
into  her  lap. 

"Why  can't  you?"  he  cried.  "Is  it  because 
you  must  get  away  from  them?  Is  it?"  In 
his  earnestness  he  had  forgotten  that  there 
were  others  in  the  car. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  softly. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Gait."  A  voice  caused 
him  to  wheel  about  sharply.  A  member  of  his 
congregation  stood  in  the  aisle  looking  at  him 
with  keen  eyes. 


316          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Why,  good  morning,  Mr.  Johnson."  There 
was  no  reason  why  the  pastor  should  become 
confused,  but  he  did.  He  stammered  almost 
guiltily.  "Ah — travelling,  are  you  ?"  He  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Boston,"  announced  the  man  curtly. 

"Oh,  I  remember,  you  go  every  day. 
Crowded  this  morning,  isn't  it?" 

"Always  crowded  this  season."  He  was 
looking  sharply  at  Miss  Carniston,  who  seemed 
to  be  absorbed  in  the  passing  landscape.  Ill  at 
ease  under  the  man's  scrutiny,  the  pastor  be- 
gan to  apologize,  though  no  apology  was  called 
for  or  even  suggested. 

"I  found  it  suddenly  necessary  to  go  to  Bos- 
ton this  morning,"  he  began,  impulsively. 
"Expect  to  get  back  the  first  of  the  week.  I 
arranged  for  the  service  to-morrow.  Brother 
Aikens  will  preach;  you'll  remember  that  he 
preached  in  January  and  you  liked  him.  I 
shall  be  there  for  the  Wednesday  evening 
meeting." 

The  man  made  no  reply.  They  were  ap- 
proaching noisily  a  suburban  station  and  many 
of  the  passengers  were  crowding  into  the  aisle 
and  toward  the  door.  When  they  were  all  out 
and  the  newcomers  were  all  in,  the  man  had 
disappeared. 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  317 

For  a  time  neither  the  pastor  nor  the  woman 
spoke.  They  were  coming  to  the  terminal  sta- 
tion; the  passengers  were  arising  for  bundles 
and  wraps ;  in  a  moment  they  would  be  in  Bos- 
ton. And  what  then?  He  tried  to  think,  but 
the  necessity  for  instant  action  rendered  his 
mind  a  blank.  The  train  stopped  and  without 
a  word  they  joined  the  procession  that  was 
moving  into  the  station.  He  had  taken  her 
travelling-case  and  was  carrying  it  in  addition 
to  his  own.  Automatically  he  turned  into  the 
ladies'  waiting-room. 

"Let  us  sit  here  a  few  moments,"  he  said. 
"I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

She  obeyed  him  blindly. 

"It  has  just  this  moment  come  to  me  what 
we  will  do."  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  leaning 
near  her  so  that  no  one  might  hear,  but  there 
was  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  in  his  face.  "See 
that  woman  over  there  by  the  fruit  stand?" 

"Salvation  Army?" 

"Yes.     It's  the  very  solution." 

"You  don't  mean — ?"  She  turned  and 
looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"Indeed,  I  do.  Why  not?  I  wonder  we 
hadn't  thought  of  it  before.  We  will  find  the 
headquarters  and  see  the  officers,  then — " 

"Oh,  rats!" 


3i8         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Why — why,  I  mean  it,  sister,"  he  burst  out 
earnestly.  "You  don't  know  the  Salvation 
Army,  I  am  sure,  or — " 

"You  want  me  to  look  like  that  thing  over 
there?  Well,  not  to  any  great  extent."  She 
looked  up  at  him  with  her  lip  curled  into  a 
sneer. 

"Ah,  sister,  the  Salvation  Army,"  he  said, 
very  gently,  "is  not  what  you  perhaps  think; 
it  is  more  than  that.  It's  a  great  family  of 
brothers  and  sisters  banded  together  to  help 
each  other  and  the  poor  and  the  fallen.  They 
would  make  a  real  home  for  you;  they  would 
surround  you  all  the  time  with  things  that 
would  bring  out  the  very  best  that  is  in  you. 
It  will  be  a  happy  and  beautiful  and  busy  life. 
Oh,  I  wish  I  might  go  into  it  myself;  I  can't 
think  of  anything  I  should  like  to  do  more." 

"Then  why  don't  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  swift 
change.  "Oh,  I  wish  you  would."  She  looked 
up  into  his  face  with  shining  eyes. 

"No.  I  can't  now.  I  have  my  church,"  he 
said,  humoringly. 

"Why  don't  you  chuck  the  old  church,"  she 
cried,  impulsively.  "You  could  do  a  thousand 
times  more  good  here.  Won't  you?  I'll  join 
'em  if  you  will,  and  I'll  work  till  I  drop.  Hon- 
estly I  will  and  truly." 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  319 

"No,"  he  said,  half  sadly.  "It's  impossible 
now.  Some  time  I  will,  perhaps." 

"Then  I  won't  go  a  step  into  your  old  Salva- 
tion Army,"  she  flashed. 

"Not  to  please  me?" 

"No." 

"No,  no,  don't  say  that.  You'll  go  to  please 
me,  sister ;  I  know  you  will."  He  bent  toward 
her  and  whispered  the  words  intensely.  "As 
a  favor  to  please  me,  won't  you  ?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Say  you  will  to  please  me?"  he  urged,  woo- 
ingly. 

"If  you  really  care,"  she  faltered.     "I— I—" 

"God  bless  you,  sister,  I  do  care,"  he  cried, 
his  voice  full  of  feeling.  "I  knew  you  would. 
You'll  never  regret  it.  It's  wonderful  work, 
wonderful.  Now  I  will  get  those  bags  checked 
and  we  will  hunt  up  the  headquarters.  The 
woman  here  will  tell  us  where  they  are." 

"But  you'll  come  once  in  a  while — often. 
Honestly  you  will?" 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  come.  I  promise  you, 
and  this  time  I'll  not  break  my  promise." 

"You'll  come  often, — every  week.  I  may  be 
homesick."  He  thought  he  detected  a  quiver 
in  her  voice. 

"Indeed  I  will  come  just  as  often  as  I  can." 


320          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"And  you'll  come  to-morrow — before  you 
go?*'  she  asked,  eagerly.  There  were  tears  on 
the  long  lashes  as  he  looked  into  her  face. 

"I'll  call  on  you  Monday/'  he  answered,  feel- 
ingly. "I  promise  it.  I'll  call  at  nine  o'clock." 

"And  you  won't  forget?" 

"I  won't  forget,"  he  said,  softly. 

A  thrill  of  pity  went  over  the  pastor.  It 
was  easy  to  understand  this  woman.  He  was 
the  last  link  between  her  and  the  absolutely  new 
world.  When  he  left  her  she  would  be  utterly 
among  strangers.  The  idea  came  to  him  with 
force.  No  wonder  she  shrank  from  the  final 
plunge  and  clung  to  him. 

"God  bless  you,  sister,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand  in  his  and  speaking  more  fervently  than 
he  realized.  "You  are  doing  a  brave  thing,  a 
beautiful  thing.  I  shall  not  forget." 

She  looked  up  at  him  eagerly,  but  did  not 
speak.  After  a  moment  he  turned  away  and 
busied  himself  with  the  travelling-bags.  He 
got  them  checked  at  the  parcel-room,  then 
jotted  down  the  address  given  by  the  Salvation 
Army  woman,  and  hurried  to  the  front  en- 
trance for  a  car. 

"I'd  rather  walk,"  she  burst  out  impulsively, 
as  they  stood  on  the  curbing.  "Let's  not  take 
a  car.  I  don't  care  how  far  it  is." 


THE  ETERNAL  TWO  321 

"Very  well." 

They  started  down  the  street  together. 

Gait  intended  to  give  the  woman  an  hour, 
but  instead  he  gave  her  his  whole  day.  Do  the 
best  he  could,  it  was  after  dark  when  he  got 
all  the  final  arrangements  made  and  was  in  his 
room  at  the  hotel.  It  was  too  late  now  to  go 
out  to  Helda  Thost's;  he  would  go  out  in  the 
morning.  But  he  had  settled  Isobel  Carniston. 
Henceforth  he  could  be  easy  about  her.  God 
had  placed  a  duty  in  his  hands  and  he  had  done 
it  to  the  full.  That  at  least  was  satisfaction. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AS  A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING 

GALT  retired  early  and,  contrary  to  his 
expectation,  slept  soundly.  It  was  late 
in  the  morning  when  he  arose.  Before  he  had 
finished  his  breakfast  the  church  bells  were 
ringing.  It  was  Sunday.  It  would  be  use- 
less to  make  a  call  on  her  before  afternoon,  for 
she  always  attended  church. 

He  too  would  attend  church.  On  the  im- 
pulse he  arose  and  followed  the  Sabbath-clad 
throng  and  the  hymn-books.  After  a  time  the 
group  just  in  front  of  him  turned  in  at  a  large 
church  of  what  denomination  he  did  not  know. 
After  a  wavering  moment  he  followed  them. 
An  usher  conducted  him  to  a  seat  well  to  the 
front.  He  looked  about  him  curiously.  The 
audience  seemed  to  be  a  scattering  one  for  so 
large  a  room,  but  he  remembered  that  it  was 
near  vacation  time  and  that  the  weather  was 
warm. 

The  spirit  of  adventure  began  to  arise  within 

him.     It  had  been  long  since  he  had  had  a  free 

322 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     323 

Sunday,  and  it  had  been  still  longer  since  he 
had  occupied  a  layman's  pew  and  listened  to 
a  sermon.  Then,  too,  he  was  an  absolute 
stranger.  Not  one  in  the  house  could  know 
that  he  was  a  minister;  the  preacher,  indeed, 
might  look  down  on  him  as  one  of  the  lost  sin- 
ners and  apply  the  text  to  him.  God  knew  that 
he  needed  it. 

He  entered  into  the  preliminary  services  with 
a  will.  The  music  was  inspiring;  the  paid 
choir  had  evidently  been  drilled  as  carefully  for 
its  part  as  a  theatrical  chorus.  After  the 
Scripture  reading  a  perfect  quartette  rendered 
Mrs.  Stowe's  sweet  hymn: 

"Still,  still  with  thee 

When  purple  morning  breaketh 
When  the  bird  waketh 
And  the  shadows  flee," 

and  tears  were  in  his  eyes  when  they  finished. 
That  was  the  cry  of  a  striving  soul,  and  his  own 
soul  echoed  its  prayer.  This  was  worship; 
this  was  the  fellowship  of  kindred  souls.  Then 
the  sermon  had  followed,  and  if  the  preacher 
had  known  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  theme 
more  apt.  He  was  a  man  of  sweet,  spiritual 
life;  that  had  been  evident  from  his  opening 
prayer.  He  had  chosen  from  his  text,  "I  was 


324         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

glad  when  they  said  unto  me,  Let  us  go  into  the 
house  of  the  Lord,"  and  he  launched  out  with 
power  into  a  definition  and  a  defense  of  the 
Christian  church.  He  dwelt  upon  it  as  an 
army  marching  against  the  forces  of  evil.  It 
would  be  as  unwise,  he  declared,  for  each  Chris- 
tian to  set  out  alone  for  the  struggle  against 
the  world  as  it  would  be  for  each  soldier  of  an 
army  to  fight  independently  of  the  others. 
Then  he  outlined  the  duties  and  the  privileges 
and  the  compensations  of  the  Christian  soldier, 
and  he  closed  by  reading  the  great  battle  hymn 
of  the  church,  "Onward,  Christian  Soldiers," 
and  when  the  great  organ  pealed  out  the  mag- 
nificent war  song  with  its  joy  and  triumph  and 
its  rallying  cry  for  the  great  Captain  in  com- 
mand, and  the  choir  joined  in  to  swell  the  vol- 
ume of  exultation  and  victory,  Gait  felt  the 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks. 

"Like  a  mighty  army  moves  the  church  of  God." 

And  he  had  listened  to  carping  little  souls 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  sweep  and  power  of 
this  mighty,  irresistible,  onward-pushing  host, 
who  had  seen  only  the  little  failings  here  and 
there  in  individual  lives.  He  went  up  after 
the  benediction  and  took  the  pastor's  hand. 

"God  bless  you,'*  he  said.     "Your  message 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     325 

has  lifted  me  and  given  me  a  new  vision." 
And  in  a  moment  he  was  in  the  street  again, 
his  heart  glowing  with  pride  that  he  was 
counted  worthy  to  be  enrolled  as  a  soldier  under 
so  magnificent  a  leader. 

He  ate  his  dinner  absorbedly.  Were  it  not 
best  to  go  back  home  now  on  the  afternoon 
train  and  not  call  on  her  at  all?  The  impulse 
of  the  morning  before  had  clearly  been  con- 
nected with  Isobel  Carniston.  God  had  sent 
him  to  rescue  her,  and  he  had  done  the  work. 
Could  he  be  true  and  loyal  to  his  great  Master 
and  go  to  this  woman  as  he  had  intended  to  go  ? 
Was  it  not  a  virtual  surrender? 

Pshaw!  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  went 
out  again  into  the  hot  streets.  He  had  pam- 
pered his  conscience  until  it  had  become  an  ab- 
normal thing  which  was  tyrannizing  and  per- 
verting him.  What  possible  harm  could  come 
from  a  parting  call  on  this  really  spiritual 
woman  ?  She  was  going  away,  perhaps  never 
to  return.  He  was  in  the  city,  only  a  few 
blocks  away  from  her;  it  would  be  positively 
rude  for  him  not  to  call.  He  would  go  and 
wish  her  bon  voyage.  There  could  be  no  harm 
in  that. 

He  found  himself  striding  rapidly  in  her  di- 


326          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

rection.  37  Vine  Street, — he  knew  the  address 
by  heart;  he  had  seen  it  over  and  over  again 
on  her  books  and  pamphlets.  He  would  not 
take  a  car,  he  would  walk;  it  suited  his  mood 
better.  It  was  just  two  when  he  rang  the  bell. 
A  servant  silently  took  his  card  and  ushered 
him  into  a  reception  room. 

Gait  was  nervous.  He  started  at  every 
sound;  she  would  come  in  now  in  a  moment, 
this  woman  he  had  dreamed  about,  this  woman, 
whom,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  loved.  There 
was  no  escaping  the  tremendous  fact  that  he 
loved  her,  and  she  was  coming  in  a  moment 
through  the  portieres  there. 

He  tried  to  compose  himself  by  looking 
about  the  room.  And  this  was  her  home,  her 
permanent  home.  How  like  her  everything 
seemed.  She  had  planned  and  arranged  it 
with  her  own  hands ;  it  was  a  part  of  her.  He 
thought  that  if  he  had  blundered  there  by  acci- 
dent he  would  have  recognized  it  as  hers.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  a  subtle  power  was  breath- 
ing from  every  object,  some  occult  influence  as 
if  her  eyes  were  upon  him.  Inanimate  objects 
from  constant  association  with  human  souls 
absorb  vital  spirit  until  they  become  themselves 
redolent  of  personality. 

He  caught  the  rustle  of  a  dress  in  the  hall- 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     327 

way  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  heart  fluttering 
like  a  boy's,  but  it  was  only  Frieda  Paine. 

"This  is  unexpected,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  cried, 
wonderingly.  "In  Boston  and  on  Sunday?" 

"Is  Miss  Thost  not  here?"  he  demanded,  his 
head  full  of  but  a  single  thought.  "Is  she  out 
perhaps  ?" 

"Yes,  with  Dick."  She  looked  up  at  him 
quickly  and  laughed  in  her  noiseless  way,  the 
merry  little  wrinkles  playing  mischievously 
about  her  eyes. 

"Dick  here — in  Boston?" 

"Why,  he  came  down  with  us;  didn't  you 
know  that  ?"  she  laughed. 

"And  left  the  divorce  case?" 

"Oh,  that  was  settled  long  ago.  Dick  won 
it,  of  course.  And  Oh,  Mr.  Gait,"  swiftly 
changing  her  manner  and  leaning  toward  him 
like  a  child  with  a  secret, — "do  you  know  Dick 
is  going  to  sail  with  us.  He  decided  it  last 
night.  He  is  all  tired  out  and  we  persuaded 
him." 

"Dick!"— explosively. 

"Oh,  it  didn't  take  much  persuasion." 
Again  she  looked  up  at  him  and  laughed,  and 
in  a  flash  there  came  a  thought  that  sent  his 
heart  into  his  throat. 

"When  do  you  sail?"  he  gasped. 


328         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Tuesday  noon  on  the  Franconia.  I'm  do- 
ing the  packing."  He  had  never  seen  her  in 
such  good  humor.  She  seemed  to  laugh  at 
nothing. 

"And  Dick  is  to  spend  the  whole  summer 
with  Miss — with  you?" 

"Not  all  of  it.  He's  promised  only  two 
weeks  on  the  continent,  but  of  course  he  will 
stay  longer  than  that — under  the  circum- 
stances," she  added,  laughing  again. 

"I  wish  you  all  a  pleasant  voyage,  I  am 
sure."  The  pastor  arose  abruptly  as  if  to  go. 

"Why!  Won't  you  wait  for  them,  Mr. 
Gait?" 

"Are  they  coming  soon?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Oh,  I  can't  say  that.  There's  no  telling 
when  once  they  get  out  in  that  motor  car. 
They  may  come  in  five  minutes  and  they  may 
stay  out  until  dark."  Again  she  laughed  in  the 
mere  joy  of  the  thing,  but  it  jarred  upon  Gait. 

"I'll  not  wait,"  he  said,  decisively.  "Give 
her — give  them  my  best  wishes  for  a  pleasant 
voyage.  Good-by."  He  fairly  ran  down  the 
steps  and  he  did  not  look  back  when  he  reached 
the  sidewalk. 

How  plain  it  all  was  now !  What  a  fool  he 
had  been!  A  thousand  little  incidents  came 
Crowding  into  his  memory.  A  blind  man 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     329 

ought  to  have  seen  it.  And  after  all  was  it  not 
a  perfect  mating?  They  were  not  in  the  least 
alike,  but  why  should  they  be  alike?  He  re- 
membered word  for  word  what  she  had  said  in 
one  of  her  lectures:  "A  perfect  union  of  souls 
is  possible  only  when  each  supplements  the 
other,  when  one  supplies  what  the  other  lacks. 
There  is  no  union  of  like  with  like — it  tends  to 
repulsion."  And  no  two  souls  that  he  had 
ever  known  were  so  fitted  to  supplement  each 
other  as  these  two.  He  knew  Dick  as  no  one 
else  knew  him  and  he  felt  how  perfectly  she 
would  supply  just  those  things  that  his  life  was 
bare  of  and  that  his  life  yearned  for,  and  he 
realized,  too,  how  wonderfully  Dick  would 
come  into  her  life  to  complete  the  circle  that 
heretofore  had  been  perfect  only  in  part. 

For  a  time  he  plunged  on  and  on,  without  a 
care  of  where  he  was  or  whither  he  was  hasten- 
ing. She  had  never  thought  of  him  for  a  sin- 
gle moment  as  he  had  thought  of  her ;  that  was 
evident  now.  She  had  looked  upon  him  only 
as  a  recruit  for  her  cult.  Her  sympathy  and 
her  harmony  with  him  and  her  calling  him  as 
he  was  wandering  in  the  darkness  had  been 
simply  a  part  of  her  method  of  ensnaring  him. 
She  did  it  undoubtedly  with  all  of  her  devo- 
tees,— with  Dick,  of  course,  and  now  she  was 


330         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

to  marry  him,  and  she  had  known  it  that  night 
when  she  had  called  out  of  the  darkness. 

His  thinking  began  to  sober  him  a  little.  He 
would  go  home;  he  would  take  the  very  next 
train ;  he  would  go  to  the  hotel  for  his  hand-bag 
and  then  wait  in  the  station.  He  would  go 
back  to  his  church  work,  and  thank  God  it  was 
not  too  late.  He  had  been  plucked  as  a  brand 
from  the  burning.  God  was  watching  over 
him  after  all. 

And  little  by  little  there  came  back  to  him 
the  thrill  of  that  morning  service  in  the  strange 
church.  In  the  station,  where  he  must  wait 
two  hours,  he  found  himself  repeating  those 
glorious  words  of  the  battle  hymn: 

"Onward  then,  ye  soldiers,  heart  and  voices  joined." 

He  had  had  his  lesson;  he  would  throw  him- 
self into  his  work  now  as  he  had  never  done 
before.  Back  and  forth  he  paced  down  the 
long  aisles  amid  the  moving  throngs  of  trav- 
ellers. The  passion  and  the  habit  of  his  life 
had  triumphed  over  the  weakness  of  the  mo- 
ment and  now  he  was  in  the  glow  of  the  morn- 
ing's sermon.  He  would  himself  preach  from 
the  same  theme  on  the  next  Sabbath.  It  was  a 
glorious  theme: 

"Like  a  mighty  army  moves  the  church  of  God." 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     331 

Automatically  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  copy 
of  a  home  paper  on  the  station  newsstand. 
He  stopped  and  glanced  at  it,  he  hardly  knew 
why;  then  he  purchased  a  copy.  One  of  the 
headings  stood  out  most  glaringly: 

"PASTOR  ELOPES 

WITH  FAIR  MAGDALEN. 

ELOQUENT     PASTOR     OF     THE     NORTH     STREET 
CHURCH    IN    CUPID'S   TOILS. 


Scandal  in  Church  Circles." 


He  took  the  paper  to  a  seat  and  skimmed 
over  the  article,  scarce  realizing  at  first  its  full 
import : 

"The  Reverend  Mr.  John  Gait,  pastor  of  the  North 
Street  Church,  took  the  early  train  for  the  Hub  yes- 
terday morning  and  he  took  it  with  some  haste.  He 
had  important  personal  business,  so  he  told  his  pa- 
rishioners when  he  met  them,  but  he  couldn't  stop 
to  explain.  He  hinted  that  he  might  be  absent  for 
an  indefinite  period,  which  did  not  argue  well  for  the 
morrow's  sermon,  but  he  had  no  time  for  details. 
His  time  was  valuable.  So  also  was  that  of  'Miss' 
Isobel  Carniston,  a  flamboyant  beauty  well  known  in 
certain  unexclusive  social  circles.  She  was  getting 
plainly  nervous.  She  had  held  a  seat  in  a  crowded 
car  for  ten  minutes  against  all  comers  and  the  strain 


332          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

was  beginning  to  tell.  But  the  sight  of  the  pastor 
in  the  door  brought  sunshine  and  comfort.  She  sub- 
sided in  smiles  that  threatened  to  crack  her  com- 
plexion, and  he  subsided  beside  her.  Then  they  sat 
closer  and  closer  until  there  was  room  enough  in  the 
seat  for  two  more. 

"The  affair  is  no  surprise  to  many.  The  intimacy 
between  the  two  has  been  well  known  among  the  pa- 
rishioners for  some  time,  but  they  have  succeeded  so 
well  in  keeping  it  quiet  that  until  now  no  whisper 
has  reached  the  general  public.  They  have  labored 
and  wrestled  and  prayed  with  their  pastor,  but  all, 
it  seems,  without  avail.  Despite  their  most  earnest 
expostulations,  he  has  taken  her  to  automobile  rides 
and  theatre  parties  and  midnight  luncheons  and  even 
to  moonlight  walks  in  the  .park.  It  transpires  that 
he  saved  her  from  suicide  one  night  last  winter  while 
he  was  doing  work  in  the  slums.  Despite  her  fallen 
condition  she  was  a  woman  of  striking  beauty,  and 
he  meditated  on  saving  her.  He  spoke  to  her  about 
it,  and  it  seems  that  she  had  no  particular  objection 
to  being  rescued,  seeing  that  he  was  a  young  man  with 
personal  charms.  He  proceeded  therefore  to  rescue 
her,  and  now  it  seems  to  his  somewhat  anxious  pa- 
rishioners that  he  overdid  the  matter  and  rescued  her 
too  much.  They  were  seen  together  during  the  day 
at  different  points  in  Boston,  and  it  is  reported  that 
late  in  the  afternoon  they  took  the  Fall  River  boat 
for  New  York." 

The  article  was  illustrated  with  a  picture  of 
the  church,  a  likeness  of  Gait,  and  a  cut  of  a 


BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING     333 

flamboyant  female  purporting  to  be  Isobel  Car- 
niston. 

He  read  over  the  article  again.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  telegraph  to  Mr.  Bradley  in- 
stantly in  the  most  forcible  words  that  he  could 
command.  It  was  clear  enough  where  the 
thing  had  originated.  Johnson,  whom  he  had 
met  on  the  train,  was  responsible,  but  there  was 
much  in  it  that  the  man  could  not  have  known 
had  his  own  church  members  not  had  a  hand  in 
it.  They  could  have  stopped  it.  They  knew  that 
Johnson  was  a  reporter  and  they  knew  that  his 
questions  to  them  could  have  but  a  single  object. 
And  yet  they  had  furnished  facts  for  the  article. 

He  would  go  home  instantly  and  call  a  meet- 
ing of  the  full  board.  He  would  stand  on  his 
rights  as  a  man;  he  would  cleanse  the  church 
of  God.  He  strode  over  to  the  office  across  the 
room  and  sent  this  telegram  to  Mr.  Bradley: 

"The  executive  committee  will  meet  me  with- 
out fail  in  the  Ladies'  Room  of  the  church  to- 
night at  nine.  All  members  will  be  present. 
Important." 

He  had  it  marked  "Rush,"  then  he  paced 
again  the  long  aisles  of  the  station,  but  there 
was  a  new  look  on  the  man's  face  now.  It  was 
the  face  of  Elijah  on  his  way  to  Naboth's  vine- 
yard. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

IT  was  past  nine  when  Gait  entered  the  ladies' 
room.  By  taking  a  cab  he  could  have  got 
from  the  train  to  the  church  on  time,  but  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  on  time.  He  would  make  sure 
that  all  were  present,  and  he  would  burst  in 
upon  them  without  prelude.  He  took  a  swift 
glance  about  the  room  and  began  to  talk  even 
before  he  had  reached  his  chair. 

"I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  in  a  husky  voice  as  if  out  of  breath  from 
hurrying.  "I  came  directly  from  the  train.  I 
left  Boston  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  morning  paper. 
I  have  come  for  an  explanation." 

He  stopped  in  a  precise  way  and  looked 
sharply  from  one  to  another  without  taking  a 
seat.  There  was  an  awkward  moment.  He 
had  taken  them  by  surprise.  This  was  not  the 
John  Gait  that  they  knew,  this  angry  man  who 
stood  there  as  if  he  had  just  challenged  the 
whole  crowd  to  come  on  and  fight.  They  had 
been  discussing  him  as  a  milk-sop,  a  dreamer 

334 


CLEANSING  THE  TEMPLE      335 

without  fibre,  a  man  too  good  and  innocent  to 
live,  one  who  had  blundered  into  this  damaging 
scandal  through  sheer  quixotism  and  lack  of 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Mr.  Bradley  was  the 
one  who  broke  the  silence. 

"What  have  we  to  explain  ?"  he  asked,  insin- 
uatingly. 

"This  whole  matter,  sir/' 

The  man's  eyes  were  like  coals.  A  spot  of 
red  glowed  in  each  cheek,  indignation  quivered 
in  every  line  and  angle  of  his  frail  figure. 
Whatever  he  had  been,  he  was  a  man  now,  out- 
raged and  angry.  It  was  Savonarola  before 
the  council. 

"Under  the  circumstances  would  not  expla- 
nation seem  to  come  more  naturally  from  you, 
Mr.  Gait?"  There  was  a  velvet  purr  in  the 
old  man's  voice  which  those  who  knew  him  un- 
derstood very  well.  "The  church  is  not  de- 
fendant in  this  case;  this  outrage  has  been 
brought  upon  her." 

"Very  true,  sir,  and  by  her  own  members." 
The  pastor's  voice  rang  out  like  a  challenge. 
"Let  me  make  one  emphatic  point:  a  scandal 
like  this  would  have  been  impossible  had  mem- 
bers of  the  church  not  desired  it." 

"Foolishness,  Mr.  Gait,  rank  foolishness!" 
The  old  man's  face  flushed  angrily.  He  put  up 


336         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

his  hand  as  the  High  Priest  might  have  done  to 
stop  blasphemy.  "Let  us  come  to  the  point; 
let  us  understand  each  other  at  the  start.  Do 
you  deny  that  you  went  yesterday  morning  to 
Boston  in  the  intimate  company  of  a  low 
woman,  and  that  you  were  with  this  low  woman 
during  the  day  at  least?"  He  brought  out  the 
last  two  words  with  insinuating  distinctness. 

"No,  sir." 

"Ah!"  He  cast  a  swift  glance  about  the 
room. 

"Do  you  believe  that  newspaper  story,  Mr. 
Bradley?  Do  you  believe  that  of  me?  Does 
the  church  believe  it  ?"  He  looked  from  face  to 
face  in  a  dazed  way  as  if  loath  to  take  the  testi- 
mony of  his  own  eyes. 

"It  makes  not  the  slightest  difference  whether 
we  believe  it  or  not,  Mr.  Gait,"  the  man  an- 
swered, sharply.  "That  is  not  the  point.  We 
believe  what  you  have  told  us,  that  you  went 
to  Boston  in  the  intimate  company  of  that  un- 
speakable woman  and  that  you  were  with  her 
during  the  day,  and  what  is  far  more,  we  know 
that  the  whole  town  knows  it.  That  is  enough 
and  more  than  enough.  As  I  have  told  more 
than  once  before  this,  your  motive  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  matter,  absolutely." 

"And  it  has  come  to  the  point  when  a  pastor 


CLEANSING  THE  TEMPLE      337 

of  Jesus  Christ  is  forbidden  by  his  church  to 
come  into  personal  contact  with  sinners  ?" 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Gait.  You  must  look  at 
this  in  the  light  of  common  sense.  We  demand 
it.  Consider  that  for  months  the  city  has  seen 
you  in  the  company  of  this  woman,  this  out- 
wardly very  beautiful  woman.  They  have  seen 
you  walking  with  her  in  the  parks  often  late  at 
night,  dining  with  her  in  restaurants,  driving 
with  her  into  the  country,  and  now  taking  her 
to  the  city,  for  all  that  they  know,  for  several 
days." 

"Is  it  conceivable  to  you,  Mr.  Bradley,  that 
I  might  have  been  saving  her  life ;  that  I  might 
have  been  taking  her  to  a  place  of  refuge  where 
she  could  have  the  chance  that  is  refused  her  in 
this  town?" 

"Mr.  Gait,  you  refuse  to  understand  us.  I 
repeat  again,  we  care  nothing  whatever  for 
your  motive.  We  are  not  dealing  with  you  or 
your  ideals  or  with  the  future  of  this  woman; 
we  are  dealing  with  the  church  of  God  in  a 
great  community."  The  old  man  sat  square 
and  erect.  His  stubby  white  hair  bristled  upon 
his  head,  as  if  charged  with  electricity.  It  was 
the  president  of  a  corporation  before  his  board 
of  control.  It  was  cold  business ;  there  was  to 
be  no  sentiment  and  no  mercy.  "Mr.  Gait," 


338          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

he  repeated  with  a  metallic  ring  in  his  voice, 
"you  have  done  this  thing  with  your  eyes  wide 
open.  This  people  has  been  very  patient  with 
you.  We  have  counselled  you,  we  have  warned 
you  in  specific  terms,  we  have  pleaded  with  you. 
You  are  in  a  great  city  where  certain  concep- 
tions are  fundamental.  You  can  not  disregard 
them,  and  you  can  not  change  them.  You  may 
criticise,  you  may  theorize,  you  may  deplore, 
you  may  sentimentalize,  but  they  will  be  here 
a  thousand  years  after  you  are  dead.  You 
have  got  to  adapt  yourself  to  things  as  they  are, 
or  else  pay  the  penalty.  I  told  you  three 
months  ago  that  you  can  not  slap  society  in  the 
face  with  impunity.  We  grant  you  that  your 
motives  are  as  pure  as  an  angel's.  That  is  not 
the  question.  The  bare  fact  of  the  matter  is 
this :  society  simply  will  not  see  you  day  after 
day  associating  with  a  low  prostitute  like  that. 
Whatever  you  may  think  or  say,  the  town  is 
capable  of  but  a  single  conclusion.  They  know 
what  that  woman  is  and  they  know  that  reform- 
ing her  is  like  reforming  a  rotten  apple.  It 
is  impossible.  We  told  you  so  and  yet  right  in 
the  face  of  our  advice  and  command  you  have 
gone  on.  And  what  have  you  accomplished? 
You  have  brought  scandal  on  the  church  of 
God,  and  you  have  harmed  it  more  than  any- 


CLEANSING  THE  TEMPLE      339 

thing  else  has  done  for  years.  Its  worst 
enemy  could  not  have  struck  such  a  blow." 

He  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  and  mopped 
his  eyes  as  if  moved  to  tears  at  the  awful  injury 
to  his  church. 

"Mr.  Bradley,  let  me  ask  you  a  simple  ques- 
tion/' Gait  stood  erect  with  squared  shoul- 
ders and  spoke  as  if  weighing  every  word. 
"Only  two  persons  in  this  world  knew  all  the 
facts  in  that  newspaper  article  and  both  are 
official  members  of  this  church.  Suppose  I  ad- 
mit as  true  the  worst  possible  construction  of 
my  acts  yesterday,  was  it  necessary  for  them  to 
put  that  article  into  the  public  press  ?" 

"I  deny  that  only  two  knew  it." 

"That  article  could  have  come  only  from  Mr. 
Henry  Johnson  who  saw  me  on  the  train,  and 
certain  of  the  facts  could  have  been  furnished 
him  only  by  you,  Mr.  Crawford.  You  met  me 
on  the  way  to  the  station.  Do  you  deny  that 
on  yesterday  afternoon  you  had  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Johnson  ?"  He  paused  an  impressive 
moment  and  then  went  on.  "Gentlemen,  if 
there  has  come  harm  to  the  church  it  has  come 
from  its  own  members.  Suppose  I  had  done 
all  that  that  article  insinuates  and  more,  was  it 
not  their  duty  to  use  every  effort  to  keep  it  out 
of  the  papers,  for  the  sake  of  the  church  ?" 


340          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"That's  a  mere  charge,  sir,"  roared  the  old 
man.  "You  offer  no  proof,  you  have  no 
proof." 

"We  shall  see.  Let  me  tell  you  one  thing. 
Within  the  last  hour  a  man  has  told  me  that  he 
will  testify  in  court  that  the  copy  for  that  article 
was  furnished  the  press  by  Henry  Johnson,  an 
officer  of  this  church.  On  the  way  from  the 
station  three  different  reporters  asked  me  for 
an  interview.  I  told  them  to  meet  me  in  my 
room  at  ten-thirty  to-night.  I  shall  tell  them 
my  version  of  the  story  and  I  shall  also  tell 
them  that  I  shall  remove  the  name  of  Henry 
Johnson  from  the  membership  roll  of  this 
church." 

"You  have  no  right — " 

"One  moment,  sir.  I  have  the  floor."  He 
turned  upon  them  almost  with  ferocity.  "Gen- 
tlemen, I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  when 
members  of  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  delib- 
erately manufacture  a  scandal  involving  the 
church  such  as  that  printed  to-day,  it  is  time 
for  me  to  make  a  whip  of  small  cords  and 
cleanse  the  temple  of  God.  That  article  to-day 
in  its  insinuations  and  its  suggestions  could 
have  come  only  from  an  imagination  unspeak- 
ably foul,  so  foul  that  the  man's  life  must  be 
corrupt  also  in  act.  Furthermore  the  fact  that 


CLEANSING  THE  TEMPLE      341 

the  leading  members  of  this  church  spend  their 
indignation  upon  me  rather  than  upon  the  orig- 
inator of  the  article  brands  them  as  in  sympathy 
with  the  originator  of  the  article/' 

He  paused  a  moment  and  instantly  the  room 
hummed  as  with  angry  wasps.  Two  or  three 
leaped  to  their  feet  and  began  to  speak  in  ex- 
cited voices.  Mr.  Bradley  had  also  arisen  and 
was  trying  to  make  himself  heard. 

"Silence!  I  have  the  floor,  sir."  It  was  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  old  prophets.  It  hushed 
the  room  instantly.  "The  charge  you  bring 
against  me  is  the  very  same  charge  that  they 
brought  with  such  ferocity  against  Jesus  Christ. 
He  ate  and  walked  with  publicans  and  sinners 
and  they  crucified  Him.  Only  one  thing  in  His 
whole  life  ever  aroused  the  flames  of  His  anger, 
and  that  was  the  lives  of  men  who  took  the  atti- 
tude that  you  take  here  to-day.  If  He  should 
come  to  this  church  as  your  pastor  you  would 
throw  Him  out  within  a  month,  and  He  would 
say  to  you,  'Woe  unto  you  scribes  and  Phari- 
sees, hypocrites,  ye  are  like  unto  whited  sepul- 
chres which  indeed  appear  beautiful  outward, 
but  are  within  full  of  dead  men's  bones,  and  of 
all  uncleanness.' ' 

"That's  raving — "  began  Mr.  Bradley,  but 
the  awful  appearance  of  the  man  checked  him. 


342          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

His  eyes  seemed  to  flame  in  the  fierceness  of  his 
denunciation. 

"I  started  for  Boston  yesterday  morning 
with  absolutely  no  thought  of  this  woman,  and 
by  sheer  accident  I  found  her  on  the  train  on 
the  verge  of  self-destruction.  She  had  done 
her  best  to  live  a  clean  life  and  not  a  church 
member  in  this  city  had  offered  to  help  her  or 
had  spoken  a  kind  word.  On  the  contrary 
members  of  this  church  had  done  all  in  their 
power  to  drag  her  back  to  hell." 

"Pshaw !"  sneered  the  old  man. 

"Mr.  Bradley,  I'm  not  going  to  mince  mat- 
ters. That  woman  was  a  pure  girl  until  she 
came  into  contact  with  certain  members  of  this 
church.  They  dazzled  her  and  ruined  her,  and 
your  son  James,  sir,  was  the  leader — I  repeat 
it,  your  son  James  Bradley,  and  if  strict  justice 
were  done  he  would  be  behind  prison  bars  to- 
day, if  not  worse.  There  are  crimes  connected 
with  these  young  men  that  if  published  in  their 
fullness  would  make  this  town  gasp  with  hor- 
ror. Mr.  Crawford  and  Mr.  Ames,  your  sons 
are  among  them,  and  you  both  know  it.  If 
Isobel  Carniston  is  a  leper  to-day  and  abso- 
lutely beyond  hope,  this  church  has  made  her 
so,  and  so  far  from  helping  her,  it  has  been 
driving  her  to  death  without  mercy." 


CLEANSING  THE  TEMPLE      343 

"Hold !  I  won't  hear  another  word,  not  an- 
other word."  The  old  man's  voice  arose  in  a 
sharp  falsetto.  "You  attack  the  church  of 
God ;  you  destroy  the  church  of  God." 

"On  the  contrary  I  would  magnify  the 
church  above  everything  else  on  earth." 

"You  would  magnify  it  by  reviling  it,  by 
making  it  the  by-word  and  the  laughingstock 
of  every  drunken  loafer  along  the  saloons." 

"No,  sir,  it's  that  already  if  it  has  within  it 
any  other  spirit  than  that  of  Jesus  Christ.  The 
church  was  founded  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  do  His  work.  It  is  not  a  club,  or  a  lodge,  or 
a  society,  or  an  exclusive  circle.  It  was 
founded  in  lowliness  of  spirit,  without  a  thought 
of  pride  or  show,  for  lifting  up  the  fallen,  giv- 
ing sympathy  to  the  helpless,  and  stretching 
out  the  hand  to  the  outcast  and  the  sinful.  I 
thank  God  that  thousands  of  churches  all  over 
this  land  are  still  doing  this.  But  this  church 
is  not :  it's  founded  on  the  pride  of  life." 

"Mr.  Gait,  we  won't  hear  another  word." 
The  words  fairly  bubbled  in  the  old  man's 
throat.  "This  discussion  has  gone  far  enough. 
You  have  lost  control  of  yourself.  It  looks 
very  much  as  if  your  usefulness  in  this  church 
was  at  an  end." 

"On  the  contrary,  sir,  my  usefulness  in  this 


344          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

church  has  only  just  begun."  He  paused  for  a 
moment  and  looked  sharply  from  face  to  face. 
"Gentlemen,  from  this  moment  this  church  is 
going  to  be  conducted  on  the  principles  laid 
down  by  Jesus  Christ.  I  give  notice  that  to- 
morrow morning  I  shall  remove  from  the 
church  roll  the  names  of  fifteen  members  and 
I  shall  publish  the  names  in  to-morrow's  press. 
Gentlemen,  I  bid  you  good  night.  I  have  an 
engagement  at  ten-thirty."  He  started  briskly 
for  the  door,  and  after  an  instant  a  burst  of 
excited  voices  filled  the  room. 

"Wait!     Stop!" 

"Stop  him." 

"Comeback!" 

"Brother  Gait,  one  moment." 

But  the  pastor  paid  no  heed.  Like  one  of  the 
old  prophets  he  strode  from  their  midst  and  in 
a  moment  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AND    THE    SOUL    THOU    HAST    SAVED    THY    SOUL 
SHALT   SAVE 

GALT  plunged  down  the  street  almost  reck- 
lessly. He  would  walk  to  his  room;  his 
mood  demanded  action.  And  action  was  good 
for  him :  it  brought  him  into  the  night  air  and 
cleared  his  mind  and  sobered  him.  His  anger 
seemed  to  subside  with  every  step  he  took  away 
from  Mr.  Bradley.  When  he  reached  the  re- 
porters, waiting  for  him  in  the  hotel  lobby,  he 
had  decided  not  to  publish  the  names  of  the 
fifteen.  He  would  cross  them  in  red  ink  from 
the  roll  book  and  then  post  them  conspicuously 
on  the  church  bulletin  board.  To  the  reporters 
he  would  give  only  the  story  of  his  connection 
with  Isobel  Carniston. 

He  took  them  into  a  parlor,  and  began  with 
minuteness  from  the  night  when  he  had  rescued 
the  girl  from  under  the  street  car.  They  lis- 
tened with  impatience. 

"But  the  church,"  they  interrupted,  at  length, 
"how  did  the  church  receive  this  ?" 

345 


346          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I  was  criticised." 

"They  forbade  you  to  visit  the  girl  again  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  disregarded  their  wishes  ?" 

"I  am  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  It  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  obey  them." 

"And  you  went  to  her  a  number  of  times 
after  that?" 

"Yes.  I  found  her  a  home  in  the  Water 
Street  Mission,  and  I  called  upon  her  as  it  was 
my  duty  to  do  as  a  Christian  minister." 

"She  is  a  very  beautiful  woman  ?" 

"She  is  so  regarded." 

"And  what  of  the  story  of  your  walking  with 
her  in  the  park  at  midnight  when  she.  was  seen 
— well,  very  near  to  you  ?" 

The  pastor  glanced  up  angrily  at  the  man. 

"That  story  came  from  the  wretched  gang 
that  ruined  her  life,"  he  burst  out,  hotly,  "and 
three  of  them  are  members  of  my  church.  If 
you  want  sensation  look  up  their  records. 
They  enticed  her  from  the  Mission  to  the  the- 
atre and  then  to  Larry's  restaurant  where  they 
had  a  private  dining-room,  and  then  they  were 
going  to  take  her  God  knows  where.  By  sheer 
accident  I  happened  to  be  at  the  restaurant  with 
friends,  and  she  broke  away  from  them  and 
came  to  me  and  I  took  her  back  to  the  Mission. 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        347 

She  had  not  yet  recovered  from  her  serious  ill- 
ness and  the  excitement  and  the  walk  overcame 
her  and  she  fainted.  And,  do  you  know,  those 
vampires  followed  us  all  the  way  to  the  Mis- 
sion ?  That  is  all  there  is  to  that  story." 

"And  their  names?" 

"Their  names  will  be  dropped  from  the 
church  roll  to-morrow  morning.  Now  as  to 
yesterday:  I  went  to  Boston  on  private  busi- 
ness and  by  pure  accident  I  found  the  girl  on 
the  train.  She  was  in  desperation  and  near  to 
suicide.  She  had  been  honest  in  her  attempt 
to  reform  and  live  a  decent  life,  but  those  vam- 
pires had  followed  her  every  movement.  She 
ran  away  from  them,  and  if  I  had  not  seen  her 
there  could  have  been  but  one  end :  the  unspeak- 
able part  of  Boston  would  have  got  her.  As 
it  was  I  put  her  in  charge  of  the  Salvation 
Army,  and  for  the  present  she  is  safe." 

"And  you  are  intending  to  keep  on  helping 
her  in  spite  of  the  warning  of  the  church  ?" 

"All  that  is  within  my  power.  As  a  follower 
of  Christ  I  have  no  other  course." 

"Is  it  not  possible,  Mr.  Gait,  that  this  scan- 
dalous story  was  originated  by  some  of  your 
members  to  spite  you  and  ruin  you  since  you 
were  so  determined  to  disregard  their  wishes  ?" 

The  pastor  looked  up  sharply.     It  was  a  new 


348          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

thought.  Before  he  could  answer  they  had 
asked  another  question. 

"You  attended  the  lectures  of  the  Theoso- 
phist,  Helda  Thost?" 

"Yes." 

"Against  the  wishes  of  your  church  ?" 

"It  was  nothing  that  concerned  them." 

"But  they  considered  it  a  serious  matter,  did 
they  not?" 

"It's  probable." 

"Some  of  your  church  members  also  attended 
the  lectures  ?" 

"They  did." 

"You  were  with  this  Theosophist  almost 
daily  in  walks  and  drives,  were  you  not?" 

"No,  sir,  not  daily."  The  pastor  looked 
sharply  from  one  to  the  other.  They  were 
cross-examining  him. 

"You  believe  in  the  principles  of  Theoso- 
phy?" 

"No-o — that  is,  not  all.  I  went  simply — " 
he  stopped  in  confusion.  He  was  about  to  say 
that  he  had  gone  to  the  lectures  only  because 
he  was  interested  in  all  phases  of  religion. 

"You  led  Mrs.  Bailey  to  believe  that  you  did 
not  know  this  woman.  Yet  you  were  even  then 
very  intimate  with  her?" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        349 

"You  had  frequent  interviews  with  her  alone 
in  her  rooms  ?" 
"No,  sir." 

"Did  you  see  her  in  Boston?" 
"I  did  not,  gentlemen — " 
"You  went  to  Boston  to  see  her  ?" 
"Gentlemen,  I  have  nothing  further  to  tell 
you  to-night.     You  have  my  story."     He  arose 
to  dismiss  them. 

"What  is  to  be  your  policy  with  the  church?" 
"I  have  nothing  more  to  tell  you." 
"Shall  you  resign?" 
"Gentlemen,  I  bid  you  good  night." 
He  went  to  his  room  in  a  strange  confusion 
of  mind.     What  had  they  been  trying  to  get 
from    him?     What    had    been    their    object? 
They  seemed  to  know  the  whole  story  of  his 
affair  with  Helda  Thost.     Could  it  be  possible 
that — the  truth  came  to  him  in  a  flash:  they 
would  publish  nothing  of  his  story  of  Isobel 
Carniston ;  they  would  bring  out  another  sensa- 
tional article  about  his  infatuation  with  Helda 
Thost  and  his  defiance  of  the  church  board. 
They  had  evidently  found  out  everything,  and 
they  would  multiply  it  by  ten. 

He  arose  to  his  feet  with  a  choking  sensation 
at  his  heart.  An  impulse  surged  upon  him  to 
run  after  them  and  forbid  them  to  print  the 


350         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

article.  He  would  compel  them  to  tell  the 
truth. 

But  was  it  not  the  truth  ? 

He  sank  again  into  his  study  chair.  Had  he 
not  gone  to  Boston  that  morning  because  he 
loved  Helda  Thost  beyond  the  bounds  of  rea- 
son ?  Did  he  not  know  in  his  heart  that  he  had 
gone  to  win  her  on  any  terms  she  might  pro- 
pose even  though  it  might  be  the  acceptance  of 
all  that  she  stood  for  ?  And  had  he  not  turned 
back  only  when  he  found  that  she  loved  an- 
other ?  There  was  no  use  to  try  to  deceive  him- 
self. However  he  might  try  to  believe  other- 
wise, the  real  truth  of  it  was  that  she  had  had 
him  in  her  power  and  that  it  had  been  only 
chance  that  had  kept  her  from  exercising  her 
power  to  the  full. 

And  he  had  sat  as  a  judge  upon  the  church. 
Who  was  he  to  dictate  terms  to  anybody  ?  Had 
the  board  known  the  full  truth  they  might  have 
silenced  him  with  a  question ;  they  might  have 
asked  for  his  resignation;  they  might  even 
have  secured  his  trial  before  the  general  church 
body  and  had  him  expelled  from  the  ministry. 
His  offense  grew  as  he  dwelt  upon  it ;  his  con- 
science, abnormally  sensitive,  lashed  him  with- 
out mercy. 

The  clock  struck  midnight,  and  at  the  sound 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        351 

of  it  he  arose  and  went  out  into  the  coolness  of 
the  summer  night.  He  would  walk  along  the 
deserted  streets,  as  so  often  he  had  done  at 
times  of  doubt  and  stress,  and  try  to  think.  He 
headed  for  the  suburbs,  and  gradually  he  found 
himself  where  the  silence  of  the  country  lay 
over  everything.  The  damp  odors  of  the  night 
stole  to  him  from  the  lawns  and  gardens.  A 
few  pale  stars  blinked  here  and  there  in  the 
misty  sky.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  looked  up 
at  them  as  he  walked,  and  gradually  the  tempest 
within  him  died  away  like  a  summer  storm. 
He  saw  it  all  clearly  now.  It  would  be  foolish- 
ness for  him  to  stay  now  and  fight  the  church 
with  all  the  scandal  to  face  that  the  newspapers 
would  bring  against  him.  Six  months  ago  he 
might  have  done  it ;  it  would  have  been  his  duty 
to  have  done  it,  but  not  now.  His  influence 
with  the  North  Street  Church  was  gone  past 
all  recall.  To  stay  and  fight  it  out  would  be 
merely  personal  spite.  Were  it  only  the  Car- 
niston  affair  that  divided  them  he  might  do  it, 
but  with  this  other  thing  to  face  he  could  only 
lose  in  the  end — and  he  ought  to  lose. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  resign  and  seek 
another  field  where  he  could  work  hand  in  hand 
with  his  parishioners.  He  would  send  in  his 
resignation  in  the  morning's  mail  and  leave 


352          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  region  forever.  It  would  be  best  for  him, 
and  best  for  the  church,  and  best  for  the  cause 
of  Christ  whom  he  served.  He  turned  sharply 
about  and  started  back  with  decision  in  every 
movement. 

But  his  resignation  ought  not  to  hinder  him 
from  carrying  out  the  threat  he  had  made  to 
the  board.  He  owed  it  to  the  cause  he  served, 
and  to  his  successor  to  remove  the  obvious 
plague  spots  from  the  church  of  Christ.  He 
would  go  at  once  to  the  church  and  in  his  study 
there  he  would  cross  out  the  fifteen  names  from 
the  book  and  make  a  list  for  the  bulletin  board. 
Then  he  would  write  out  his  resignation  and 
send  it  by  speedy  messenger  to  the  clerk  of  the 
board  in  the  early  morning.  After  that  they 
might  do  as  they  pleased. 

That  was  a  busy  night  for  John  Gait.  He 
picked  up  his  private  papers  and  his  little  per- 
sonal belongings  and  made  final  arrangements 
for  the  boxing  and  storing  of  his  books  and 
furniture.  At  nine  o'clock  he  was  at  the  rail- 
road station  with  a  single  suit  case.  As  to 
what  the  next  step  was  to  be  he  did  not  know 
or  care.  He  was  obeying  the  impulse  within 
him  to  arise  and  shake  from  his  feet,  in  true 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        353 

scriptural  fashion,  the  dust  of  the  town  and  be 
quit  of  it  forever. 

He  had  hardly  entered  the  station  when  a 
reporter  found  him. 

"Is  it  true,  Mr.  Gait,"  he  asked,  "that  you 
have  resigned  from  the  North  Street  Church  ?" 

"It  is." 

"Does  your  resignation  imply  that  the 
charges  against  you  are  true,  and  that  you  do 
not  care  to  remain  and  defend  yourself  ?" 

"It  does  not."  He  turned  upon  the  man 
angrily.  "It  simply  means  that  I  will  injure 
the  cause  I  serve  more  by  remaining  and  forc- 
ing myself  upon  this  congregation  than  I  would 
by  removing  myself  and  quietly  allowing  the 
matter  to  settle  down.  I  am  willing  to  sacri- 
fice myself  for  the  general  good  of  the  church. 
I  only  ask  your  paper  to  tell  the  whole  truth 
in  this  matter.  If  you  are  honest  you  will  not 
drop  this  story  with  my  departure.  You  will 
look  carefully  into  the  whole  affair  of  Isobel 
Carniston  and  a  half  dozen  others  like  her — 
Amy  Fiske,  for  instance — and  publish  what  you 
find.  You  will  have  all  the  sensation  there  that 
you  want." 

"Will  you  give  me  the  names?" 

"If  you  care  to  consult  the  church  bulletin 


354         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

board  you  will  find  some  of  the  leaders  of  this 
wretched  gang  in  a  list  of  men  whom  I  have 
just  removed  from  the  membership  roll  of  the 
church." 

"Will  you  make  a  full  statement  about  this 
matter?"  The  reporter  came  nearer  in  his 
eagerness. 

"I  will  make  no  more  statements." 

"But  give  us  a  name  to  begin  on." 

"I  have  said  all  that  I  shall." 

"But  your  intentions  ?  Where  do  you  intend 
to  go  now  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  pastor  began,  but  it 
flashed  upon  him  that  this  would  only  add  an 
element  of  mystery  and  tempt  the  newspapers 
to  follow  him  and  keep  alive  the  scandal.  "I 
am  going  into  mission  work — in  New  York,  or 
Chicago,  or  San  Francisco,"  he  blurted  out  at 
random.  The  crier  was  announcing  the  train 
for  Boston  and  without  another  word  to  the 
reporter  he  turned  and  jostled  with  the  crowd 
through  the  gate. 

For  a  moment  a  wild  feeling  of  exultation 
came  over  him.  He  was  free,  free  as  he  never 
had  been  before  in  his  whole  life.  He  could 
go  where  not  a  soul  would  know  him  and  begin 
again.  He  would  go  on  and  on  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, to  the  Philippines  perhaps,  and  throw 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        355 

himself  heart  and  soul  into  some  work  where  he 
could  be  unfettered  and  unknown.  But  the  re- 
vulsion followed  as  swiftly.  He  had  found  out 
the  weakness  of  his  own  soul,  he  had  found  the 
true  depth  of  his  religion.  A  man's  strength 
is  measured  by  his  power  of  resistance  at  his 
weakest  moment,  and  this  had  been  his  test. 
He  knew  himself  now  and  he  despised  himself. 
He  had  kept  from  falling  all  these  years  simply 
because  he  had  had  no  real  temptation. 

And  in  a  way  this  self-diagnosis  was  right. 
The  weakness  of  his  life  had  been  that  there 
had  been  in  it  not  enough  of  struggle.  He  had 
never  been  sharply  tempted  .nor  had  he  been 
greatly  shaken  by  doubts  or  opposition.  He 
had  entered  early  upon  his  Christian  life  and 
had  devoted  himself  so  earnestly  to  his  high 
ideals  that  he  had  gone  on  and  on  in  a  placid 
way  until  placidness  had  become  a  habit.  Now, 
all  in  a  moment  he  had  been  swept  out  of  his 
sheltered  nook  into  the  fierce  current,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  like  the  destruction  of  all  things. 
The  one  love  of  his  life,  that  had  come  upon 
him  so  impetuously,  had  all  in  a  moment  turned 
to  ashes  in  his  hands.  And  at  the  same  instant 
there  had  come  with  whirlwind  suddenness  a 
realization  of  the  weakness  of  his  own  char- 
acter. That  which  most  men  would  have  dis- 


356         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

missed  without  a  thought  had  been  magnified 
by  his  sensitive  conscience  into  a  total  fall.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  plans  of  his  life  lay  in 
ruins  all  about  him  and  as  if  there  was  no  use 
for  further  struggle. 

The  spirit  was  out  of  the  man.  The  more 
spiritual  and  sensitive  the  soul  the  more  utter 
its  fall  if  it  ever  does  fall. 

There  was  no  train  for  New  York  for  several 
hours  and  he  went  out  and  wandered  down  the 
mid-day  streets.  Once  he  passed  a  bar-room 
and  the  reek  of  it  came  out  like  a  great  breath, 
fetid  and  hot.  A  strange  impulse  swept  over 
him  to  go  in  and  saturate  himself  with  sin  and 
be  done  with  it.  Who  would  care?  It  was 
only  an  impulse,  but  he  knew  now  how  des- 
perate men  sometimes  feel  in  the  crises  of  their 
lives. 

"God  pity  them !"  he  cried.  "And  God  pity 
me!" 

What  next? 

He  passed  a  woman  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Salvation  Army,  and  instantly  he  pulled  out  his 
watch.  Two  o'clock — Monday — and  he  had 
promised  Isobel  Carniston  to  call  on  her  at  nine. 
His  last  words  had  been  that  he  would  not  for- 
get ;  he  would  call  before  he  started  back  home. 
She  was  depending  on  him. 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        357 

What  if  she  was  ?  How  could  he  help  Isobel 
Carniston  now?  But  the  thought  troubled 
him.  How  utterly  desolate  she  had  been! 
Doubtless  she  felt  as  he  felt  now,  alone,  un- 
utterably alone.  Oh,  the  loneliness, — no  one  to 
care,  no  one  to  help,  come  what  might,  no  one 
to  share  with  joy  or  sorrow !  Alone, — he  un- 
derstood it  now,  and  his  heart  went  out  to  her 
in  her  misery  and  her  loneliness.  A  sudden 
longing  to  see  her  came  upon  him.  She  would 
be  glad  to  see  him  and  how  it  would  help  him 
to  see  one  face  that  would  have  in  it  sympathy 
and  comprehension. 

He  hailed  a  passing  cab  and  urged  the  driver 
to  drive  rapidly.  It  was  two-thirty  when  he 
entered  the  little  street  and  stood  before  the 
number.  He  rang  the  bell  and  waited.  There 
was  no  response.  Then  he  rang  again  and 
after  a  moment  the  door  opened  timidly. 

"Oh,  it  is  you."  She  threw  the  door  wide 
open  with  impulsiveness.  "I  don't  know  who 
ought  to  tend  this  door  and  I  thought  it  might 
be  you." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  stood  and  looked  at 
her.  She  wore  the  full  uniform  of  the  Salva- 
tion Army,  even  to  the  bonnet,  and  somehow 
for  a  moment  it  disconcerted  him.  He  had  not 
thought  of  her  in  that  guise. 


358          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"There  isn't  any  parlor,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  "Perhaps  we  could  walk  on  the 
street.  I  am  all  ready." 

"Yes,  we  will  walk  on  the  street." 

"I  thought  you  wasn't  coming,  Mr.  Gait.  I 
thought — "  She  stopped,  in  an  embarrassed 
way. 

"I  was  delayed,"  he  answered,  and  they 
started  down  the  hot  street  in  silence. 

He  found  himself  casting  glances  at  her. 
This  was  not  Isobel  Carniston.  Something 
was  different.  There  was  a  restraint  about 
her  that  he  had  never  seen  before,  something 
tense  that  he  felt  yet  could  not  interpret. 
There  was  a  strange  shyness,  almost  nervous- 
ness, about  her.  Perhaps  it  was  the  uniform. 
He  had  heard  that  an  entirely  new  character 
sometimes  came  to  a  man  through  the  donning 
of  a  policeman's  uniform.  There  was  even  a 
different  tone  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke. 

"You  are  not  sick,  Mr.  Gait?"  she  asked, 
timidly. 

"Why,  no,  indeed." 

"You  look  sick  and — changed." 

"Do  I?" 

A  sudden  impulse  born  of  the  look  on  her 
face  came  over  him  to  confess  it  all  to  her. 
He  had  been  fighting  all  alone  and  he  needed 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        359 

human  sympathy.  There  was  in  his  heart  a 
cry  that  was  imperious  and  would  not  be  denied 
for  a  confessor. 

"I  have  had  a  great  shock,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment,  "and  it  has  been  almost  more  than  I 
could  bear.  I  didn't  sleep  much  last  night." 

"I  am  sorry  you  saw  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Saw  what?"     He  glanced  up  with  a  start. 

"The  paper." 

"Oh!" 

"I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Gait,  that  I  brought  this  to 
you."  There  was  a  tremor  in  the  voice.  "I 
told  you  that  first  night  to  let  me  go,  and  you 
ought  to." 

"You  need  not  be  sorry  at  all,  Miss  Carnis- 
ton,"  he  said.  "I  am  not." 

"But  it  is  such  a  lie,  Mr.  Gait.  I  don't  see 
how  they  could  have  said  it — of  you." 

He  did  not  answer.  She  glanced  up  at  him 
furtively.  The  haggard  appearance  of  the 
man,  the  utter  dejection  written  in  his  every 
feature  were  to  her  as  accusing  fingers  point- 
ing at  her  soul.  It  revealed  as  she  had  never 
felt  it  before  the  awful  gulf  between  them. 
The  mere  falsehood  that  he  had  allied  himself 
with  her  had  laid  hold  of  him  like  a  fever  and 
had  changed  him  so  she  hardly  knew  him. 


360         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I  am  sorry  you  saw  the  paper,"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"But  you  can  prove  it  is  a  lie,  the  whole  of 
it,"  she  cried.  "I  have  thought  about  it  a  lot, 
and  we  can  prove  it." 

"It's  not  worth  while,"  he  said,  absently. 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  but  she  did  not 
speak.  Then  they  walked  again  in  silence. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  what  happened  last  night, 
Mr.  Gait,"  she  began  at  length  in  low  voice. 
"They  took  me  out  with  them  and  played  on 
their  instruments  and  talked  and  prayed,  and 
along  late  in  the  evening  they  wanted  me  to 
sing.  So  I  sang  a  song  I  knew  when  I  was  a 
little  girl,  and  then  they  wanted  me  to  tell  my 
experience  and  I  told  what  I  had  been,  and  how 
you  came  that  night  and  how  you  stood  by  me 
and  helped  me,  and  all  that  you  said  to  me, 
and — Oh,  Mr.  Gait,  I  don't  know  what  I  said, 
but  a  woman  came — a  bad  woman  and  cried 
and  asked  me  to  help  her,  and  I  was  frightened 
and  I  had  to  talk  with  her." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?"  he  asked,  a  quiver 
in  his  voice. 

"All  I  could  say  was  what  you  said  to  me 
and  she  wouldn't  leave  me  and  they  had  me 
take  her  home,  and  Oh,  Mr.  Gait,  what  shall  I 
tell  her  ?  She's  there  now." 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        361 

"God  bless  you,  sister."  The  tears  were 
streaming  down  the  pastor's  cheeks  now. 
"God  has  given  you  your  work." 

"But,  Mr.  Gait,  you  must  talk  to  her.  I 
can't.  I—" 

"No,  sister,  that's  your  work.  God  has 
given  it  to  you,  and  only  you  can  do  it.  Thank 
God  he  has  shown  you  your  work,  and  thank 
God  you  have  shown  me  mine." 

She  looked  up  at  him  uncomprehendingly 
and  he  saw  tears  on  the  long  lashes.  There 
was  beauty  in  the  face  now,  the  beauty  that 
comes  only  with  the  soul. 

"I  mean  that  God  has  used  you  to  lift  me  up 
and  to  point  me  to  my  work,"  he  said,  a  great 
wave  of  feeling  sweeping  over  him. 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  and  they  did 
not  speak  again  until  they  were  back  before  her 
door. 

"Good-by."  He  turned  to  her  impulsively, 
and  took  her  outstretched  hand.  "I,  too,  am 
going  to  work  among  the  fallen,"  he  said,  in- 
tensely. "I,  too,  have  found  my  weakness,  and 
have  triumphed  over  it." 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  wide  eyes;  she 
did  not  understand. 

"I  sent  my  resignation  this  morning  and  I 
am  not  going  back,"  he  went  on,  impetuously. 


362          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"I  am  going  to  find  somewhere  a  needy  spot 
and  give  myself  absolutely.  I  am  going  to  do 
mission  work  in  the  darkest  spot  of  some  dark 
city." 

"Really,  Mr.  Gait?"  She  turned  to  him,  im- 
pulsively, a  swift  burst  of  joy  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  God  helping  me,  from  now  on  that  is 
to  be  my  work — my  only  work." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gait !"  For  a  moment  the  passion 
within  her  beat  down  all  barriers.  "Take  me. 
I  can  work.  I  can  help  you.  I'll  do  anything 
— everything.  I'll  give  my  whole  life — every- 
thing. Oh,  won't  you?"  She  held  her  hands 
out  to  him,  every  fibre  in  her  body  trembling 
in  wild  entreaty. 

"No,  no,  sister."  There  was  sadness  in  the 
voice  now.  It  was  as  if  he  were  talking  to  a 
child  who  could  not  know  what  she  asked. 
"That  would  not  be  best — now.  Your  work  is 
right  here.  It's  best  that  we  work  alone, — best 
for  both  of  us." 

"Oh!"  The  word  was  a  sob.  She  turned 
swiftly  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"I  forgot,"  she  choked.  "For  just  a  minute  I 
forgot.  O  my  God !" 

"There  is  only  one  thing  now,"  he  went  on, 
his  voice  tremulous  with  emotion.  "Work. 
Lose  yourself  in  work,  sister,  as  I  am  going  to 


THY  SOUL  SHALT  SAVE        363 

do.  It  is  the  only  way — for  us  both.  And, 
thank  God,  you  have  your  work  right  here. 
Thank  God  for  that.  It  is  best  for  you  not  to 
know  even  where  I  am,  to  lose  me,  absolutely. 
It  is  best.  But  be  true,  sister.  Do  your  very 
best  for  my  sake  and  for  Christ's  sake.  Live 
just  a  day  at  a  time  and  remember  that  what- 
ever is  best  for  us  is  sure  to  come — some  time. 
Some  time  we  may  be  able  to  help  each  other 
again.  Until  then  God  bless  you.  Good-by." 
And  before  she  could  speak  he  was  gone. 

That  night  in  his  room  in  a  cheap  lodging- 
house  in  the  tenement  section  Gait  fell  upon  his 
knees  in  prayer  for  the  first 'time  since  he  had 
left  Frieda  Paine  the  afternoon  before. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    FIELD    IS   THE    WORLD 

GALT  began  upon  his  new  work  that  very 
day,  and  it  was  with  a  lighter  heart  than 
he  had  had  for  weeks.  He  was  free  as  never 
before  in  his  whole  life;  he  was  free  as  his 
Master  had  been  free.  He  could  work  now  in- 
deed with  no  one  to  obey  save  Him  to  whom 
he  had  surrendered  his  life. 

He  began  with  a  study  of  the  situation.  He 
would  take  as  his  field  that  part  of  the  city 
where  the  need  was  the  greatest,  where  no  other 
worker  had  cared  to  go,  and,  after  he  had  care- 
fully investigated  the  matter  for  a  week,  he  de- 
cided that  that  field  was  the  negro  section  of 
the  West  End.  It  was  not  to  be  a  simple  going 
to  them,  a  reaching  down  of  his  hand  from  a 
vantage  point  above ;  it  was  to  be  an  actual  liv- 
ing with  them.  He  found  a  small  room  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  section,  a  room  high  up  in  a 
ricketty  tenement-house,  and  he  made  it  at  once 
his  headquarters  and  his  home.  He  would  be- 
come one  of  them,  and  live  their  life  and  share 

364 


THE  FIELD  IS  THE  WORLD     365 

their  misery  and  their  poverty,  and  little  by  lit- 
tle he  would  know  them  and  their  ways  and 
their  outlook  and  their  ideals.  He  would  go 
slowly  at  first.  He  would  make  his  mission 
work  grow  out  of  their  actual  needs  as  he  dis- 
covered them;  he  would  come  into  their  life  so 
gradually  that  it  would  be  a  natural  growth 
and  so  at  length  an  influence  that  would  be 
strong  and  permanent.  He  had  no  organiza- 
tion to  satisfy,  no  rival  workers  to  equal  or  sur- 
pass, no  reports  to  make.  He  would,  even  as 
his  Master  did,  simply  go  about  doing  good. 

That  summer  and  autumn  was  John  Gait's 
apprentice  period  in  hand-to-hand  Christian 
work,  in  Applied  Christianity  as  he  phrased  it 
to  himself,  and  gradually  it  changed  his  whole 
conception  of  life  and  society.  Before  he  had 
been  in  his  field  a  week  he  was  overwhelmed 
with  the  magnitude  of  the  work  to  be  done, 
work  all  of  it  of  the  most  practical  kind.  It 
brought  him  at  once  into  personal  contact  with 
disease  and  squalor  and  crime.  There  was  no 
time  for  preaching  now  save  to  single  souls 
whom  he  found  helpless  or  near  to  death.  His 
mission  work  at  first  took  the  form  of  watch- 
ing with  the  sick,  of  gathering  groups  of  little 
children  from  the  alleys  on  hot  afternoons  and 
taking  them  to  a  park,  of  becoming  personally 


366          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

acquainted  with  squalid  families  and  teaching 
them  better  sanitation  and  methods  of  living. 
No  one  thought  of  him  as  a  minister:  he  was 
only  a  very  kind  man  who  was  sure  to  come 
around  just  when  he  could  help.  And  he 
threw  himself  into  the  work  with  his  whole 
soul.  He  joyed  in  it.  He  was  unknown,  ab- 
solutely; it  was  as  if  he  had  dropped  from  an- 
other world,  and  they  asked  no  questions. 
And  those  of  his  old  life  had  lost  all  trace  of 
him.  He  had  disappeared  utterly.  There 
were  many  of  his  old  parishioners  who  actually 
believed  that  he  was  living  in  New  York  with 
Isobel  Carniston.  He  had  burned  his  bridges : 
he  read  no  papers  and  he  received  no  mail. 
This  was  to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his  life ; 
this  was  the  field  that  God  had  placed  in  his 
care,  and  he  would  give  himself  utterly  as  long 
as  he  had  the  strength  to  give. 

It  was  late  in  the  autumn,  just  before 
Thanksgiving,  when  Gait  next  saw  Isobel 
Carniston.  A  storm  was  over  the  city,  a  blast 
of  coarse  snow  that  hissed  over  the  roofs  and 
against  signs  and  windows.  Darkness  had 
fallen  early.  Gait  had  been  called  to  the  north 
end  of  the  city,  and  was  hastening  along  not 
far  from  the  North  Station,  when  his  eye  fell 
on  a  huddling  group  of  men  in  a  narrow  street. 


THE  FIELD  IS  THE  WORLD     367 

It  was  unusual  on  such  a  night.  There  was  no 
fighting,  for  the  men  were  perfectly  silent  and 
there  were  no  policemen  in  evidence.  Quickly 
he  crossed  over  to  investigate:  it  might  be  an 
accident  and  he  might  be  helpful.  A  moment, 
and  he  heard  a  woman's  voice — two  voices 
blending  perfectly,  one  a  soprano  and  the  other 
a  glorious  alto. 

He  pressed  nearer.  They  were  Salvation 
Army  sisters, — he  could  see  the  uniforms  now 
and  the  banners  asking  funds  for  the  annual 
Thanksgiving  dinner  for  needy  children. 
Then  with  a  start  he  recognized  Isobel  Carnis- 
ton.  The  light  of  a  saloon  entrance  was  in 
her  face  and  there  was  no  concealing  that  mass 
of  marvellous  hair.  The  words  came  to  him 
now  in  full  chord : 

"He  was  despised  and  forsaken, 
Homeless,  rejected,  and  poor." 

A  lump  came  into  the  throat  of  John  Gait. 
And  this  was  Isobel  Carniston,  singing  in  the 
darkness  and  the  storm  of  Him  who  was  de- 
spised and  forsaken, — this  woman  whom  he 
had  snatched  from  under  the  car  wheels  a 
snarling,  desperate  thing  with  every  man's 
hand  against  her. 

The  song  ended  and  then  she  who  seemed  to 


368          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

be  the  leader,  a  frail,  little  woman,  with  a  sweet 
smile,  broke  into  a  ringing  address : 

"Go  home,  every  one  of  you,"  she  cried,  "and 
get  something  ready  for  Thanksgiving  for  your 
wives  and  children,  and  if  you  haven't  got  any 
put  the  money  into  this  box  and  help  some 
hungry  little  kid  to  have  a  square  meal  once  in 
his  life  on  Thanksgiving  Day.  You  take  that 
money  that's  in  your  pockets  for  you  to  blow 
in  to-night  on  booze  to  pour  down  your  throats 
to  bring  damnation  to  you  and  wretchedness  to 
everyone  around  you,  and  you  put  it  in  this 
box  where  it  won't  do  you  harm  any  more  and 
where  it  will  make  somebody  happy  for  a  whole 
day.  Then  you  steer  away  from  that  saloon 
and  go  home  and  live  lives  you  won't  have  to 
be  ashamed  of  when  Jesus  Christ  comes  here 
by  and  by  and  calls  your  name." 

"Sing  something  else,"  spoke  up  a  voice. 

"Yes,  sing,"  they  all  echoed. 

"Well,  we'll  sing  just  once  more,  but  before 
we  sing  we  are  going  to  pass  the  box  right 
around  this  congregation,  and  every  mother's 
son  of  you  is  going  to  put  something  in,  and  it 
isn't  going  to  be  any  of  your  amalgamated  cop- 
per either.  We  want  free  silver." 

The  passing  of  the  box  was  Isobel  Carniston's 
task.  Gait  watched  her  narrowly.  She  moved 


THE  FIELD  IS  THE  WORLD     369 

with  confidence  and  dignity,  and  she  looked 
them  straight  in  the  eyes.  Strength  now  was 
in  that  erect  figure  and  new  beauty  was  in  her 
face.  There  was  not  a  rude  remark  or  a  vile 
look  as  she  passed  through  the  group.  They 
seemed  to  reverence  her  as  one  who  had  come 
to  them  to  lift  them  into  a  purer  world.  Sev- 
eral took  off  their  hats  as  they  dropped  in  their 
coins.  Then  the  two  sang  again,  and  there  was 
not  a  movement  in  the  group  until  the  last  full 
chord  had  ceased. 

"Soul  of  mine  in  earthly  temple, 
Why  not  here  content  abide? 

'Why  art  thou  forever  pleading? 
Why  art  thou  not  satisfied  ?'  " 

And  then  the  full  burst,  the  soprano  and  the 
glorious  alto  blending  as  if  it  were  one  voice : 

"I  shall  be  satisfied, 
I  shall  be  satisfied, 
When  I  awake  in  His  likeness." 

Gait's  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears  when 
they  finished.  Never  had  he  heard  a  song  that 
so  chorded  with  all  that  was  within  him.  And 
this  was  the  woman  who  had  faced  him  in  the 
park  like  a  mad  dog.  "Break  her  heart  and 
she  will  sing  divinely,"  had  been  said  once  of 
Jennie  Lind,  and  here  truly  was  a  broken  and 


370          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

contrite  heart,  a  life  transformed,  singing  di- 
vinely and  leading  men.  Such  a  miracle  could 
come  only  from  the  spirit  of  God. 

He  hastened  after  them. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Carniston,"  he  said, 
breathlessly  as  he  reached  them.  "But  I  can't 
go  away  without  thanking  you  from  my  heart 
for  that  song." 

"Why — why — it's  Mr.  Gait!"  she  gasped, 
every  particle  of  blood  leaping  from  her  cheeks. 

"Yes,  I  heard  your  song  and  it  was  beautiful ; 
it  lifted  me." 

"Captain  Carey,  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr. 
Gait,"  she  said,  in  a  strained  voice. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  the  little 
woman  said,  brightly.  "I  have  heard  very 
much  about  you  in  the  last  few  months." 

"But  you  are  sick,  Mr.  Gait."  The  girl  had 
recovered  her  self-possession  now.  "Why,  I 
shouldn't  have  known  you  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
your  voice.  You  are  really  sick." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed.  I  haven't  been  sick  a  mo- 
ment this  summer." 

"But  you  are  changed." 

"Perhaps  it's  my  clothes,"  he  laughed. 

"No,  Mr.  Gait,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  there 
was  a  quiver  in  the  voice.  "You  are  not  well, 
— you  are  working  too  hard, — you  are  killing 


THE  FIELD  IS  THE  WORLD     371 

yourself  working — and  you  mustn't.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  us  about  your  work,  Mr.  Gait." 

"Oh,  I  have  a  little  parish  over  on  the  West 
Side,  one  all  of  my  own,"  he  said,  lightly. 

"And  you  have  taken  another  church?" 

"Oh,  no,  indeed.  I'm  simply  working  where 
there's  work,  and  that's  about  everywhere,  isn't 
it  ?"  he  added,  smilingly,  turning  to  her  as  to  a 
fellow-worker  who  could  understand. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  She  was  glancing  up  at 
him  furtively,  a  strange  lump  in  her  throat. 
She  noticed  how  deep  set  and  dark  were  his 
eyes  and  how  bright  were  the  spots  in  his 
cheeks. 

"But  really  I've  been  thinking  of  forming 
something  like  a  church,"  he  went  on,  seriously. 
"I  have  formed  a  little  group  that  gathers 
around  me  now  on  Sundays  and  I  have  organ- 
ized classes  of  children  and  a  little  Sunday- 
school,  and  I  even  have  a  preaching  service  and 
a  prayer-meeting.  Really,  do  you  know,  I  am 
thinking  of  organizing  into  a  kind  of  mission  or 
church,  if  you  can  call  it  so  ?  You  can  work  on 
absolutely  new  ground  with  no  organization, 
but  it  is  not  long  before  the  organized  body  be- 
comes imperative." 

"And  what  classes  are  you  working  with?" 
the  little  captain  asked,  brightly. 


372          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"Negroes  mostly,  but  there's  everybody 
mixed  in,  and,  by  the  way,"  he  added  quickly, 
"they  like  singing  above  all  things  in  the  world. 
Can't  you  two  come  down, — it's  just  this  min- 
ute occurred  to  me, — come  down  and  sing  to 
them?  You  could  help  us  amazingly.  Come 
down  next  Sunday." 

"Why,  yes — "  Miss  Carniston  began,  then 
stopped  in  confusion. 

"We  shall  be  glad  to  come  down  if  we  can 
help,"  Miss  Carey  said,  simply. 

"Good.  We'll  call  it  next  Sunday  at  two 
o'clock." 

And  that  was  the  real  beginning  of  the  Mary 
Magdalene  Mission. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    MARY    MAGDALENE    MISSION 

AGAIN  it  was  March  and  again  the  east 
wind  cut  searchingly  through  the  alleys 
and  howled  around  the  tenements.  Gait  was 
not  well.  Early  in  February  he  had  been  for 
two  weeks  in  the  hospital  with  a  sharp  attack 
of  bronchitis.  He  was  out  again  now,  but  with 
a  hacking  cough  and  a  shortness  of  breath 
that  made  the  four  flights  up  to  his  room  seem 
interminable.  Yet  not  for  a  moment  was  he 
pausing  in  his  work.  It  was  a  mission  building 
now  that  was  driving  him.  He  had  outgrown 
long  ago  the  narrow  little  room  that  he  had 
hired  for  his  meetings  and  he  had  determined 
to  go  to  every  business  man  and  property- 
holder  in  the  district  for  subscriptions  toward 
a  proper  building  or  at  least  a  suite  of  rooms 
for  the  enlargement  of  his  work.  There  should 
be  a  hall,  and  rooms  for  amusements,  and  a 
sort  of  restaurant  where  men  could  gather  in- 
stead of  at  the  saloons ;  then  if  possible  it  should 

373 


374          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

be  made  a  refuge  for  homeless  wanderers 
stranded  for  the  night  and  for  all  who  were  in 
trouble.  Such  a  mission,  he  argued,  would 
make  the  whole  district  better  and  would  make 
all  the  property  more  valuable.  Business  men 
ought  to  contribute  to  it  gladly  if  only  for  self- 
ish reasons. 

But  the  work  went  hard.  The  business  men 
of  a  street  do  not  act  upon  impulse  and  they  do 
not  throw  money  into  schemes  of  reform  where 
the  returns  are  at  best  only  problematical.  It 
required  time  and  enthusiasm  and  hard  work 
to  make  even  a  start  upon  his  venture,  and  his 
efforts  exhausted  him  so  completely  that  on 
some  afternoons  he  was  not  able  to  go  out  at 
all.  One  noon  he  went  to  sleep  at  the  table  in 
his  room  while  he  was  eating  the  sandwiches 
that  he  had  brought  from  a  restaurant.  He 
had  been  up  all  the  night  before  with  a  delirious 
fever  patient  two  floors  below  and  was  com- 
pletely worn  out.  Even  a  sharp  knock  at  the 
door  within  two  feet  of  where  he  sat  did  not 
arouse  him.  Then  the  door  opened  and  a  hand 
fell  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Why — why,  Dick!"  he  gasped,  looking  up 
with  wild  eyes  as  if  at  a  vision. 

"God's  sake,  Johnny,  is  this  you  ?"  He  seized 
the  pastor's  hand  and  looked  at  him  eagerly. 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     375 

"It  is  you,  Dick,  isn't  it?"  He  was  still  look- 
ing at  him  wonderingly,  his  eyes  full  of  sleep. 

"You  bet  it  is,  but,  my  God,  Johnny,  what 
have  you  been  doing?  You  look  like  a  dead 
fish." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right."  He  clung  to  Dick's 
hand,  pathetically.  There  was  a  quiver  in  his 
voice. 

"You  are  not  all  right.  Why,  you  won't  last 
three  months  here."  He  turned  him  about 
and  looked  at  him  sharply.  "Johnny,  you  are 
going  to  march  right  out  of  this  inside  of  fif- 
teen minutes." 

"No,  Dick." 

"You  just  wait  and  see  what  you  do.  After 
all  I've  hunted  I'm  riled  up." 

"Have  you  hunted  for  me,  Dick?"  He 
looked  at  him,  wonderingly.  Whenever  he 
had  thought  of  Dick  he  had  pictured  him  as 
still  touring  with  Miss  Thost,  or  married  per- 
haps and  off  on  his  honeymoon. 

"Hunted?  Johnny,  I've  scoured  this  coun- 
try all  the  fall  and  winter  with  a  fine  comb." 
He  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  bed  and  auto- 
matically fumbled  for  a  cigar.  "You  told 
Marks  that  you  were  going  into  mission  work 
in  New  York  or  Chicago  or  San  Francisco  and 
I've  had  all  three  of  'em  swept  and  garnished." 


376          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

"How  did  you  find  me,  Dick?" 

"Accident,  pure  luck.  Happened  to  be  talk- 
ing yesterday  to  Avery  of  the  Record  and  he 
let  slip  that  you  said  Queen  Isobella  was  in  Bos- 
ton in  the  Salvation  Army.  It  was  easy  after 
that." 

"You  saw  her?" 

"First  thing.  Devilish  pretty  girl,  Johnny. 
The  bonnet  sets  her  off  like  a  duchess." 

"And  she  told  you  where  I  was  ?" 

"Yes!"  He  was  blinking  reminiscently 
through  the  smoke. 

"Dick,  she's  worth  all  it  cost.  She's  the  most 
effective  worker  they've  got.  I  wish  you  could 
hear  her  and  her  roommate  sing  some  night 
on  the  street,  with  a  crowd  about  her  listening 
as  if  she  was  an  angel.  It  would  bring  a  lump 
into  your  throat.  You  know  they  put  new  re- 
cruits under  the  care  of  older  workers  who  live 
with  them  all  the  time  and  train  them.  This 
Miss  Carey,  who  has  had  Miss  Carniston  in 
charge,  is  one  of  the  sweetest  souls  in  the  city." 

Dick  smoked  in  silence  seemingly  oblivious  of 
the  pastor.  Suddenly  he  blew  out  a  great  blast 
of  smoke  and  sat  erect. 

"Johnny,"  he  said,  explosively.  "You  made 
a  fool  of  yourself, — a  damn  fool.  Nothing  else 
will  express  it.  You  ought  to  have  a  guardian. 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     377 

My  God,  I  wish  I'd  been  there  just  two 
hours." 

"Where?"     He  looked  up,  wonderingly. 

"I  never  knew  a  thing  of  it,"  he  went  on, 
stormily,  "till  it  was  all  over,  and  then  it  was 
too  late.  Why,  man,  you  had  'em  by  the  neck. 
They  were  scared  to  death.  If  you  had  hung 
to  'em  just  one  day  longer  you  would  have  had 
the  whole  bunch  crawling  on  their  bellies  to 
you  and  licking  your  boots,  and  you  ran  away 
right  in  the  climax  of  the  fifth  act  when  the 
house  would  have  given  you  anything  on  earth 
you  wanted.  And  your  running  away  just  as 
much  as  said,  'All  your  charges  are  true,  gen- 
tlemen. I  think  I'll  skip  bail.'  " 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do,  Dick.  If  you 
knew  the  whole  story — " 

"Stop  it,  Johnny,"  he  roared.  "I  know  what 
you're  going  to  say,  and  I  can't  stand  it."  He 
arose  and  paced  the  floor,  puffing  at  his  cigar 
fiercely.  "My  God,  but  it  was  a  shame." 

"What  did  they  do?" 

"Do?  Why,  the  fifteen  you  turned  out  made 
some  little  flutter,  but  most  of  'em  are  rein- 
stated now,  and  they  have  got  a  fat  little  'yes, 
yes'  man  who  pleases  the  ladies,  and  everything 
is  smooth  as  oil.  You  are  the  villain  in  the 
church  history  whose  name  is  to  be  spoken  by 


378         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

the  timid  with  a  shudder;  that's  all  your  pas- 
torate amounted  to.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  been 
there,  minding  my  business  as  I  ought  to  have 
been!  I'm  the  one  to  blame,  Johnny.  You 
didn't  know  any  better  and  I  did.  And  to  think 
I  should  have  run  away  to  Europe  like  a  dodder- 
ing fool  just  at  that  minute." 

"When  did  you  get  back,  Dick?"  Gait  was 
not  listening  to  the  running  tirade.  The  image 
of  Helda  Thost  was  in  his  eyes.  By  some  wild 
suggestion  she  had  taken  possession  of  him 
again,  and  an  impulse  insistent  and  compelling 
was  upon  him  to  pour  upon  the  man  the  flood  of 
eager  questions  that  was  pent  up  in  his  heart. 
He  had  seen  her  recently,  he  had  been  with  her, 
he  knew  where  she  was  at  this  instant,  he  knew 
her  heart  and  her  life.  But  he  was  swiftly  mas- 
ter of  himself. 

"I  was  gone  just  six  weeks,  Johnny,"  he  an- 
swered, "and  I  had  intended  to  be  gone  only 
two."  He  sank  back  into  the  chair  again  and 
began  to  smoke  more  and  more  slowly. 

"I  am  glad  you  could  take  the  vacation,"  the 
pastor  said,  weakly.  "You  needed  it.  And 
with  her — "  he  stopped  himself  suddenly. 

"Umh !"  murmured  Dick,  and  for  a  long  time 
they  sat  in  silence,  the  smoke  from  the  cigar 
curling  ever  more  and  more  faintly. 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     379 

"This  is  a  queer  world,  Johnny,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Gait  faced  the  man 
eagerly,  a  strange  beating  in  his  throat. 

"I  mean  that  I  wasn't  the  one,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"Dick!" 

"I  was  a  fool,  Johnny,  that's  the  long  and 
short  of  it, — just  an  ordinary  dum  fool." 

"Where  is  she  now,  Dick?" 

"She's  in  New  York  City,  and  that's  where 
you  and  I  are  going  to  be  just  about  to-morrow 
morning.  Now,  I'll  give  you  just  thirty  min- 
utes to  dress  yourself  and  pack  that  grip.  Hit 
it  up,  Johnny." 

"Don't,  Dick."  His  heart  was  fluttering  un- 
til it  almost  choked  him.  For  a  single  wild  mo- 
ment everything  within  cried  out  in  exultation. 
He  would  go — instantly — she  was  waiting  for 
him — she  was  true — but  it  was  only  for  a  min- 
ute. 

"I  shall  not  go,  Dick,"  he  said,  thickly. 
"My  life-work  is  right  here — with  my  peo- 
ple." 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  be  a  man.  Brace 
up- 

"No,  Dick,  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Come 
with  me."  He  arose  as  by  a  sudden  impulse 


380          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

and  got  his  hat  and  coat.  "I  want  to  show 
you  my  work,  I  want  to  show  you  my  peo- 
ple." Dick  followed  him,  characteristically 
storming  and  pleading  and  even  swearing,  but 
the  man  was  firm. 

"Dick,  you  know  me  well  enough  to  know 
that  when  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it." 

"But  take  a  vacation,  Johnny ;  get  out  of  this 
just  a  week — three  days.  It's  killing  you  by 
inches.  You  are  a  dead  man  if  you  don't  get 
out  of  this  and  right  off." 

"No,  Dick,  my  work  is  in  such  condition  that 
I  can't  leave  it  a  moment.  We  are  at  a  crit- 
ical point.  We  have  got  to  have  rooms,  and 
down  on  the  corner  is  just  the  place.  It's  to  be 
vacated  very  soon  and  we  have  the  option  on  it 
for  just  a  week  more.  We  simply  have  got  to 
raise  the  money,  Dick.  Now  this  is  our  old 
room;  see  it?  Just  about  space  enough  to  turn 
around  in.  We  can't  get  a  quarter  of  the  chil- 
dren in  here  on  a  Sunday  morning,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  parents.  We  could  get  hundreds  if 
we  only  had  the  room.  The  children  are  wild 
over  it  and  the  parents  are  getting  interested. 
We  want  a  place  big  enough  for  everybody  to 
come  to,  where  these  poor  people  of  the  tene- 
ments can  have  a  place  to  bring  their  friends 
and  have  a  social  time  with  music  and  enter- 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     381 

tainment,  where  they  can  get  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  sandwich  if  they  want  it,  and  be  able  to 
enjoy  themselves  in  decent  surroundings.  We 
could  make  it  just  as  attractive  as  a  saloon. 
Then  we  want  it  to  be  a  rescue  station  for  those 
who  are  down  and  out  and  have  no  place  to  go 
to — a  sort  of  Jerry  McAuliffe  Mission  and 
Florence  Crittenden  Home  combined.  Then 
we  want  an  out-of-doors  playground  connected 
with  it.  It  will  take  money,  but  it  will  be  worth 
ten  times  over  what  it  costs.  Come  and  see  the 
rooms,  Dick." 

The  pastor's  enthusiasm  grew  as  he  went  on. 
The  old  fire  was  in  his  eyes. 

"It  was  the  children  who  suggested  it,"  he 
went  on,  eagerly.  "When  I  saw  the  little  chil- 
dren playing  in  the  gutters  on  Sunday,  coming 
up  absolutely  without  moral  restraint  or  re- 
ligious training  as  the  savages  in  the  jungles  of 
Africa,  learning  those  things  that  could  only 
drive  them  into  lives  of  crime,  I  could  not  sleep 
nights.  I  was  compelled  to  go  to  them  and 
gather  them  into  little  groups  and  win  their 
confidence,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  had  a  Sun- 
day-school. And  then  there  were  the  mothers, 
poor  feeble  things,  the  most  of  them,  whose 
husbands  were  worthless  or  in  prison,  and  they 
without  means  of  support — ah,  this  is  the  field, 


382          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

Dick,  and  it's  white  for  the  harvest  if  there 
ever  was  a  field  that  was  white." 

"Wait,  Johnny."  Dick  stopped  short.  For 
a  long  time  he  had  said  nothing.  "I  don't 
want  to  see  your  rooms.  I'll  take  your  word 
for  'em.  What  I  want  is  a  restaurant,  one 
where  you  can  get  a  square  meal  that's  all 
right.  There's  one  right  over  across  here. 
Come  on." 

"But,  Dick,  the  rooms  are  only — " 

"Chuck  the  rooms ;  come  on." 

An  hour  later  over  the  black  coffee  Dick 
leaned  suddenly  over  the  table  with  a  curious 
expression  on  his  face. 

"Johnny,"  he  said,  impressively,  "there's  no 
use  trying  to  budge  you,  I  know  that.  A 
balky  horse  is  nothing  to  what  you  are  when 
you  make  up  your  mind.  The  only  thing  to  do 
is  to  take  another  tack,  so  I'm  going  to  take  it 
now,  Johnny.  I'm  going  to  make  my  will  and 
I  want  you  to  take  down  every  word.  As 
you  know,  I  haven't  a  soul  dependent  on 
me  in  the  world,  except  Freddie,  and 
Freddie's  fixed  all  right.  Last  month  I  got 
two  thousand  dollars  out  of  a  single  will 
case,  and  it  was  only  fun  for  me  to  put  the  case 
through.  I  haven't  any  use  for  money,  and 
I've  got  more  than  is  good  for  me.  Now  I  am 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     383 

going  to  tell  you  what  to  do:  You  go  ahead 
and  hire  this  concern  and  fit  it  up  to  suit  you 
and  you  hand  the  first  year's  bill  in  to  me." 

"Dick — why  it's  too  much — I — "  He  choked 
and  stopped. 

"Chuck  it,  Johnny,  I'm  not  doing  this  for 
nothing.  There's  a  string  to  it.  Wait  till  you 
hear  my  conditions." 

"Conditions  ?"  he  echoed. 

"Yes,  I  am  to  do  this  only  on  one  condition : 
you  are  to  have  one  month  to  set  the  thing  in 
order  and  to  get  it  running  and  then  you  are 
to  take  two  months'  vacation  in  some  first-class 
country  resort" 

The  pastor  looked  at  him  with  brimming  eyes 
and  he  did  not  speak. 

"Do  you  accept  the  conditions,  Johnny?" 

"I  can't  do  otherwise,  Dick,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"They  need  it  so." 

"But  you  need  the  vacation  a  dum  sight 
worse,  old  man.  And  remember  I  shall  hold 
you  to  the  conditions." 

"And  you'll  come  down  to  the  opening, 
Dick?"  The  pastor  looked  up  at  him,  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I'll  be  down.  You'll  see  me  oftener 
than  you  want  to  from  now  on.  I  know  where 
you  are  now.  So  long,  old  man.  Now  let  up 
on  yourself  just  all  you  can,  for  really,  Johnny, 


384          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

you  are  in  bad  shape,  and  if  you  want  really  to 
help  these  people  here  you  will  take  good  care  of 
yourself.  Good-by."  And  he  had  left  him, 
not,  however,  without  misgivings.  But  there 
was -really  nothing  else  to  do.  He  knew  the 
pastor  well  enough  to  know  that  there  was  no 
moving  him  when  once  he  had  made  up  his 
mind.  He  would  go  on  with  his  work  even 
though  he  knew  that  death  would  be  the  price 
of  the  labor,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  let  him. 

The  next  month  was  the  most  joyous  in 
Gait's  whole  life.  He  was  preparing  for  the 
grand  opening  on  the  fifteenth  of  April.  First, 
he  would  furnish  the  rooms,  and  to  give  the  dis- 
trict a  feeling  of  proprietorship  in  the  venture 
he  called  for  donations  of  chairs  and  tables  and 
books  and  dishes.  The  result  amazed  him. 
The  neighborhood  knew  the  man  now  and  all 
seemed  eager  to  help  him  in  the  new  venture. 
Everywhere  he  went  he  disseminated  enthusi- 
asm. The  fish-dealer  on  the  corner  sent  a 
chamber-set,  the  Italian  fruit-vender  furnished 
a  table,  the  grocer  sent  dishes,  everybody 
brought  something,  even  a  negro  bootblack  who 
had  only  a  bottle  of  shoe  polish.  It  was  really 
wonderful  to  see  how  the  squalid  little  district 
awoke  into  life. 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     385 

Gait  was  everywhere;  the  whole  burden  of 
the  work  fell  upon  him.  It  was  for  him  to  su- 
perintend the  repairs  and  the  alterations  and 
the  cleaning,  to  plan  the  scope  of  the  work  and 
to  organize  it,  to  find  workmen  and  to  keep 
them  busy,  to  order  the  furnishings  and  to  put 
them  in  place,  and  to  make  ready  for  the  open- 
ing exercises  of  the  final  day.  The  children 
were  to  give  a  little  concert,  the  hall  was  to  be 
trimmed  with  flowers  and  branches  and  bunt- 
ing, and  over  one  end  there  was  to  be  hung  in 
letters  of  green  the  Mission  motto: 

"GOD  CARES.     THERE  IS  HOPE  YET." 

For  a  week  Gait  scarcely  slept.  Only  the 
excitement  and  the  urge  of  the  work  kept  him 
on  his  feet.  On  Friday  he  was  to  take  a  band 
of  children  on  a  trolley  ride  out  to  where  they 
could  get  green  branches  and  daisies  and  ever- 
green ;  on  Saturday  they  were  to  trim  the  hall ; 
and  on  Sunday  afternoon  the  great  event  was 
to  take  place.  Miss  Carniston  and  Miss  Carey 
were  to  come  and  sing;  there  was  to  be  a  little 
orchestra  which  had  been  organized  for  the  oc- 
casion by  one  of  the  larger  boys,  and  the  chil- 
dren were  all  to  take  part  in  something.  Ev- 
erywhere there  was  expectancy  and  eager  dis- 


386         THE  BREAKING-POINT 

cussion.  Every  child  the  pastor  met  asked  him 
questions.  Mothers  looked  out  at  him  almost 
reverently  as  they  saw  him  leading  their  chil- 
dren by  the  hand  and  talking  to  them  anima- 
tedly of  the  decorations  and  the  programme. 

"God  bless  the  poor  man,"  an  old  Irish 
woman  cried  as  she  saw  him.  "He's  too  good 
for  the  loikes  of  us.  Do  you  see  the  look  in  his 
eyes?  We'd  better  be  good  to  him  while  we 
can,  the  poor  dear." 

Then  swiftly,  even  before  he  had  taken  the 
children  out  for  the  decorations,  there  had  fal- 
len the  tragedy.  God  knows  why  it  had  to 
come  just  then.  It  was  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
city  that  it  happened,  the  old  story  repeated  al- 
most every  day  in  some  city  or  other:  a  busy 
crossing,  an  automobile  rolling  rapidly  and 
tooting  its  warning  with  disconcerting  racket, 
a  sudden  jumping  back  to  avoid  the  terrible 
thing  and  a  falling  straight  before  another 
swiftly  coming  from  the  other  direction.  He 
rolled  over  and  over  in  the  mud  under  the 
bumping  wheels  and  lay  still, — a  moment,  and 
then  a  policeman  was  bearing  him  crushed  and 
limp  to  the  curbing. 

"Your  name? — your  name?"  he  shouted,  ex- 
citedly, for  it  was  evident  that  the  man  had 
only  a  moment  to  live. 


MARY  MAGDALENE  MISSION     387 

"Gait." 

"And  your  address?  your  street?  your 
home?" 

There  was  -no  answer.  The  eyes  were  star- 
ing, unseeingly. 

"Who  shall  we  send  for?"  He  put  his  lips 
close  to  the  man's  ear.  "Who  shall  we  tell? 
Quick.  We  ought  to  send  for  somebody." 

The  lips  moved  almost  inaudibly,  but  the  po- 
liceman caught  the  words: 

"Carniston — Salvation — Arm — " 

And  the  soul  of  John  Gait  had  burst  from 
the  tenement  that  so  feebly  had  held  it. 

An  hour  later  Isobel  Carniston  was  at  the 
telephone.  There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice, 
yet  coolness  and  mastery. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "He  belongs  here;  he  be- 
longs to  me.  Send  him  to  43  Anson  Street. 
Send  him  to  me,  instantly.  I  shall  be  ready." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LOVE   AND    DEATH 

HAVE  you  seen  in  the  cathedral  in  Berne 
the  figure  of  the  Magdalen  bending  over 
the  dead  Christ?  Unutterable  anguish!  grief 
too  deep  for  tears !  a  sense  of  unworthiness  that 
bows  her  over  the  pitiful  feet  without  courage 
to  seek  the  dead  face!  The  pathetic  figure 
veiled  in  its  clinging  blackness,  pouring  out  her 
very  soul  in  longing,  in  agony,  in  pity  as  she 
looks  on  him  as  he  lies  in  his  abject  moment, 
his  figure  rigid  from  its  ghastly  death,  the 
tender  heart  that  no  man  pitied  stilled  by  the 
tyranny  of  the  strong,  and  all  fled  save  one, 
and  she  a  sinner, — oh,  the  pathos  of  it!  O 
love  the  most  poignant  because  the  most  un- 
selfish; O  anguish  unutterable  because  it  shat- 
ters the  very  springs  of  hope.  Love  in  the 
presence  of  death, — there  is  the  tragedy  of  hu- 
man life. 

Isobel  Carniston's  cry  had  at  first  been  ex- 
ultant. "Now  he  is  mine!"  God  at  last  had 
given  him  to  her.  To  his  people  at  the  West 


LOVE  AND  DEATH  389 

End  he  had  simply  disappeared.  They  would 
never  know.  To  all  who  had  known  him  in  his 
earlier  world  he  was  already  but  a  memory. 
She  a!0he  knew  the  secret  of  his  life.  God's 
own  hand  had  given  him  to  her.  She  had  been 
unworthy  while  he  was  alive  to  touch  even  the 
hem  of  his  garment,  but  now  he  was  hers.  His 
grave  should  be  to  her  a  shrine  that  should  be 
hers  alone  forever.  She  would  keep  it  green 
and  beautiful  and  covered  with  flowers.  It 
should  be  the  home  of  her  heart. 

They  had  turned  over  to  her  the  contents 
of  his  pockets:  a  Bible  and  a  worn  key,  that 
was  all.  She  took  the  stained,  limp  volume 
into  her  hands  almost  reverently.  It  evidently 
had  been  his  companion  for  years.  Almost  ev- 
ery passage,  especially  in  the  Gospels,  had  a 
marginal  comment  upon  it  or  a  cross  reference 
or  underlined  words. 

And  this  now  was  to  be  hers.  Who  else 
could  claim  it  ?  And  what  a  priceless  treasure 
it  was !  She  turned  its  leaves  as  if  they  were 
God's  own  fingers.  The  man's  whole  life 
breathed  out  of  it ;  while  she  had  that  book  she 
would  constantly  be  in  his  presence.  She 
paused  in  her  turning  at  a  place  where  the  page 
was  fairly  black  with  interlinings.  It  was  the 
twentieth  chapter  of  John,  that  marvellous 


390          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

chapter  that  tells  how  Mary  Magdalene  had 
gone  that  morning  in  the  darkness/tb  the  tomb 
of  her  Master.  She  tried  to  maka  out  the 
writing :  iT^ 

"The  church  dates  from  the  cross,  and  the 
first  step  after  the  cross  was  made  by  a  woman." 

"She  went  in  the  dark;  only  love  casts  out 
fear." 

"The  first  message  of  hope  after  death  was 
brought  by  a  woman." 

"To  a  woman  was  given  Christ's  first  com- 
mission, go  and  say." 

"He  had  forgotten  the  seven  devils ;  to  Him 
it  is  not  deeds  done,  but  the  possibilities  latent 
in  the  life.  Ps.  103:12." 

"The  task  falls  from  his  hands  to  be  picked 
up  by  a  woman." 

"A  woman  transfigured." 

"Go  to  my  brethren.  Go  to  my  brethren. 
Go  to  my  brethren" 

"Touch  me  not;  i.  e.,  think  not  of  your  own 
love  and  joy,  but  go,  share,  let  others  know  the 
blessedness." 

She  looked  up  from  her  reading  and  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  worn  key.  It  was  the  key  to  his 
room,  undoubtedly.  Who  was  to  pick  up  his 
little  belongings,  and  who  was  to  have  them? 
And  what  of  his  people  in  the  little  neighbor- 


hood  that  he  had  made  his  home?  What  of 
them?  Tftey  were  even  now  joyously  prepar- 
ing to  decorate  the  little  Mission  room  for  the 
SkoSarai  opening.  The  tears  for  the  first  time 
came  to  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  it.  The  lit- 
tle children  loved  him. 

Then  had  come  a  thought  that  drove  the 
blood  from  her  cheeks  and  set  her  heart  to  flut- 
tering as  if  it  were  trying  to  escape.  God  had 
sent  her  this  key  to  his  room,  and  with  it  the 
key  to  his  work.  He  was  dead  :  the  work  had 
fallen  from  his  shoulders  upon  hers. 

She  dropped  upon  her  knees  almost  in  terror, 
so  tremendously  had  the  conviction  swept  over 
her.  She  tried  to  pray,  but  the  words  she  had 
read  were  beating  in  her  ears:  "Go  to  my 
brethren.  Go  to  my  brethren."  "Think  not 
of  your  own  love  and  joy;  but  go,  share,  let 
others  know  the  blessedness." 

She  arose  with  a  look  of  triumph  on  her 
face. 

"I  will  go,"  she  said,  her  head  erect,  her 
hands  clasped  tight  as  in  prayer.  "We  will 
have  the  funeral  in  the  Mission,  and  God  help- 
ing me  I  will  take  his  work  and  make  it  what 
he  dreamed  it  might  be." 

There  were  tears  on  the  long  lashes,  but  there 
was  glory  in  the  face  now.  It  was  the  soul  ris- 


392          THE  BREAKING-POINT 

ing  at  last  over  the  body  in  perfect  mastery; 
it  was  the  moment  of  victory  supreme  over 
tears,  the  last  radiant  glimpse  before  the  white 
veil  shuts  out  the  world  of  the  flesh  forever. 


THE  END 


AN  IMPORTANT  AMERICAN  NOVEL 


THE  MARRIAGE  PORTION 

By  H.  A.  MITCHELL  KEAYS 

Author  of  "The  Road  to  Damascus,"  "He  That  Eateth  Bread 
With  Me."  etc. 

$1.35  net;  by  mail,  $1.48 

In  her  new  book,  which  is  by  far  her  most  important,  Mrs.  Keays 
discusses  her  favorite  theme  —  marriage.  She  lays  the  scene  of  her 
story  in  a  modern  university  city  which  many  readers  will  recog- 
nize, and  she  portrays  the  life  there  with  an  unsparing,  but  just, 
understanding.  As  usual,  she  develops  her  characters  with  unerring 
skill.  In  fact,  she  depicts  all  her  people,  both  admirable  and  other- 
wise, so  naturally,  so  truly,  indeed  so  perfectly,  that  the  delighted 
reader  will  be  inclined  to  believe  that  she  writes  of  real  living, 
breathing,  human  beings,  existing  in  the  flesh  in  the  shadow  of  a 
great  American  university. 

The  story  centers  around  Adela  Cleave,  a  charming  woman  who, 
after  a  brief  marriage  and  an  early  widowhood,  has  won  a  consid- 
erable reputation  as  an  artist  in  Paris.  Returning  to  her  native  land 
to  be  with  her  father,  an  old  and  honored  professor,  she  is  at  first 
inclined  to  wonder  whether  life  will  offer  in  her  new  environment 
so  wide  a  scope  for  her  interest  in  humanity  as  had  been  offered  to 
her  delighted  senses  in  Paris.  But  she  early  discovers  that  almost 
without  her  knowing  it  her  life  is  seemingly  inextricably  entangled 
with  the  lives  of  a  homogeneous  yet  strangely  diverse  social  struct- 
ure. Her  father,  "  Daddy  Mark,"  as  she  calls  him,  or  Professor 
Kay,  as  he  is  known  to  his  colleagues,  is  a  most  lovable  character, 
and  it  is  many  years  since  we  have  had  in  fiction  so  keenly  diverting 
a  person  as  Mrs.  Heming,  Adela  Cleave's  aunt,  and  a  woman  with 
an  infinite  capacity  for  martyrdom.  The  interplay  of  interests  in  a 
university  community  is  alertly  realized  in  the  development  of  the 
absorbing  plot,  which  shows  the  gradual  growth  of  as  sweet  and 
tender  a  love-story  as  has  been  told  by  any  American  novelist. 


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AN  UNUSUALLY   POWERFUL  NOVEL 


HER  HUSBAND 

The  Mystery  of  a  Man 

By  JULIA  MAGBUDEB 

Author  of  "Princess  Sonia,"  "A  Heaven-Kissing  Hill,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  LUCIUS  WOLCOTT  HITCHCOCK 

$1.35  net;  by  mail  $1.48 

This  is  Miss  Magruder's  most  powerful  novel;  in  fact,  it  is  the 
novel  on  which,  in  her  own  opinion,  her  literary  reputation  will  rest. 
In  it  she  displays  to  the  full  her  command  of  the  arts  of  the  story- 
teller, her  ability  to  lead  the  reader  breathlessly  from  climax  to 
climax,  her  power  as  a  delineator  of  character,  her  broad  acquaint- 
ance with  human  nature  and  her  knowledge  of  how  to  express  human 
emotions  to  their  last,  tingling  vibrations. 

.  The  story  centres  around  the  puzzling  character  of  Egbert  Lothian. 
And  here  indeed  is  a  man  who  is  a  mystery  from  the  very  beginning 
of  the  novel  —  in  his  wooing,  in  his  courtship,  in  his  marriage  to 
the  remarkable  heroine  of  the  story,  —  the  charming  young  Ameri- 
can girl  whom  this  interesting,  distinguished  Scotchman  so  capti- 
vates —  in  his  married  life  —  and  who  grows  more  and  more 
remarkable  and  mystifying,  even  to  his  wife,  as  the  romance  goes 
on,  until  near  the  close  of  the  story  the  wife  and  the  reader  are 
amazed  and  held  breathless  at  a  disclosure  of  which  neither  she  nor 
any  one  else  had  the  slightest  hint  or  conception.  Through  the 
whole  gamut  of  human  emotions  the  girl  in  this  novel  passes,  and 
the  reader  follows  her  and  the  man  at  her  side  with  wonder  and 
fascination. 

During  its  publication  in  the  columns  of  a  current  popular  maga- 
zine this  novel  created  a  storm  of  discussion.  For  serial  purposes 
the  story  was  condensed  to  about  half  its  length.  In  book  form  it 
is  now  for  the  first  time  presented  in  its  entirety. 


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A  new  novel   by  the  author  of  "  Happy  Hawkins  " 


THE  KNIGHT-ERRANT 

By  ROBERT  ALEXANDER  WASON 

Author  of  "Happy  Hawkins,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  HANSON  BOOTH 
$1.25  net;  by  mail,  $1.37 

A  modern,  city-bred  "  Happy  Hawkins,"  one  Philip  Lytton  by 
name,  a  young  man  with  ample  fortune  and  excellent  ideas  about 
enjoying  the  good  things  in  life,  takes  to  heart  the  taunts  of  his 
lady  love  and  engages  entertainingly  in  business.  Making  a  failure 
of  it  in  his  simple,  blundering  way  he  leaves  New  York  to  seek  his 
fortunes  in  the  Far  West.  Here  Mr.  Wason  takes  us  over  familiar 
ground  in  that  country  that  he  knows  so  well  and  has  already  written 
about  so  engagingly  in  Happy  Hawkins,  the  country  which  Dr. 
Crothers  so  well  names  "  the  land  of  the  large  and  charitable  air." 

Mr.  Wason  knows  men  and  women,  their  strength  and  weakness, 
their  vices  and  virtues,  and  packed  to  the  covers  though  it  is  with 
incident,  with  suspense,  with  the  essence  of  story  interest,  his  new 
book  yet  carries  a  strong  moral.  His  fresh,  spontaneous  humor, 
which  the  Nation  has  called  "  American  humor  in  its  best  estate," 
flashes  everywhere. 

Someone  has  compared  a  Wason  book  to  the  wildwood,  with  its 
lights  and  shadows,  its  lilting  melodies,  its  sudden  storms,  its  joy- 
ous freedom.  Editors,  publishers,  his  friends,  his  critics,  have  all 
objected  to  an  apparent  lack  of  technique  in  Mr.  Wason's  writing; 
but  he  continues  to  mingle  humor  and  pathos,  the  dramatic  and  the 
argumentative,  the  tender  and  the  cynical,  with  all  the  prodigality 
and  originality  of  old  Nature  herself.  Of  stories  there  is  no  end; 
but  in  addition  to  a  real  story,  a  Wason  book  gives  the  reader  the 
rare  privilege  of  intimate  association  with  a  broad,  sympathetic 
and  discriminating  personality.  It  is  not  necessary  to  agree  with 
him  —  he  fattens  on  controversy  —  and  the  reader  who  enters  into 
the  spirit  of  it  can  find  much  of  what  Stevenson  calls  the  joy  of 
mental  wrestling. 


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A  BULLY  GOOD  STORY! 


THE  INCORRIGIBLE  DUKANE 

By  GEORGE  C.  SHEDD 

Author  of  "The  Princess  of  Forge,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  STANLEY  L.  WOOD 

$1.25  net;  by  mail,  $1.37 

If  Jimmy  Dukane  hadn't  been  a  "  good  fellow,"  he  wouldn't  have 
got  into  so  much  trouble  and  if  he  hadn't  been  a  good  fellow  he 
wouldn't  have  —  but  that's  the  story ! 

He  had  been  easily  acquiring  the  record  as  Perpetual  Holiday- 
Maker  for  Broadway,  when  —  well,  "  James  A.  Dukane,  Sr.,  had,  so 
to  speak,  brought  down  his  fist  on  the  table  with  a  bang.  James  A. 
Dukane,  Jr.,  had  been  under  the  fist  and  his  eyes  popped  open  very 
wide  indeed."  Dukane  and  Company  were  in  the  concrete  construc- 
tion business  and  they  were  erecting  a  big  dam  clear  out  in  Nevada. 
The  elder  Dukane  decided  that  the  way  to  solve  the  problem  of  what 
to  do  with  Jimmy  was  to  set  him  to  work,  so  he  sent  him  out  to 
"  make  a  report "  on  the  dam.  He  —  Dukane,  Sr.,  —  then  vamoosed 
for  Europe  and  left  young  Jimmy  to  work  out  his  own  salvation. 

"  The  green  tail-lights  of  the  train  flickered,  faded,  then  with  a 
sudden  mischievous  wink  altogether  disappeared ;  the  last  puffing 
of  the  engine  was  like  a  hoarse  chuckle. 

" '  Dumped  in  a  puddle  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night/  Jimmy  Dukane 
vociferated  resentfully. 

"In  the  caravan  just  departed  there  was  everything  to  comfort 
the  soul,  to  cheer  the  mind  and  moisten  the  palate  —  bright  lights, 
snug  chairs,  jolly  companions,  a  well-stocked  buffet.  Here?  —  what 
the  deuce  was  here  anyway  except  water?  He  faced  about.  A  few 
miserable  beams  of  light  escaped  through  the  dingy  depot  window 
out  upon  the  wet  platform  and  gleamed  glassily  along  the  rails; 
some  distance  away  in  front  of  him  glowed  half  a  dozen  misty, 
luminous  balls  like  swamp-lanterns,  which  he  surmised  to  be 
windows. 

" '  The  governor  stung  his  son  and  heir  this  time/  he  remarked  in 
immense  disgust." 

That  was  only  the  beginning  of  it.  Things  started  to  happen  at 
once  and  when  Jimmy  woke  up  in  the  morning  in  this  little  sage- 
brush town  of  Meldon  and  found  his  clothes  and  money  gone  and 
a  tramp's  raiment  in  their  place  —  with  no  money  —  he  was  naturally 
indignant.  But  his  indignation  fell  on  deaf  ears.  Nobody  knew 
him ;  he  knew  nobody.  He  began  to  get  hungry.  What  should  he 
do? 

What  would  you  do? 

The  story  of  what  he  did  —  and  incidentally  of  how  he  met  a 
charming  girl  by  the  name  of  Enid  —  is  one  of  the  most  delightful 
that  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  the  novel-reader  in  many  a  day.  Youth 
—  exuberant,  unconquerable,  "  incorrigible  "  Youth  —  is  in,  around 
and  over  it  all. 

You  will  enjoy  "  The  Incorrigible  Dukane." 

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ADVENTURE-HEROISM-LOVE 


THE  LOSER  PAYS 
A  Story  of  the  French  Revolution 

By  MARY  OPENSHAW 

Author  of  "The  Cross  of  Honour" 

$1.25  net;   by  mail,  $1.37 

In  this,  her  second  novel  to  be  given  to  American  readers,  the 
author  of  "  The  Cross  of  Honour "  tells  a  fine,  brave  story  that 
will  still  further  enhance  the  reputation  won  by  her  previous  book. 
"  The  Loser  Pays  "  is  the  story  of  the  devotion  to  love  and  duty  of 
no  less  a  personage  than  Rouget  de  Lisle,  the  author  of  the  "  Mar- 
seliaise."  Many  other  writers  have  already  taken  the  French  Revo- 
lution as  their  theme  but  Miss  Openshaw  is  one  of  the  few  who  have 
made  it  vivid  and  human.  In  fact,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no 
one  else,  since  Felix  Gras  wrote  "  The  Reds  of  the  Midi,"  has  given 
us  a  story  of  the  French  Revolution  of  so  fine  a  quality. 

"  A  stirring  tale,  capitally  recounted."  —  London  Times. 

"The  possibilities  of  the  Revolution  in  France  as  a  subject  of 
fiction  are  almost  infinite,  but  they  have  seldom  been  used  with  so 
keen  a  dramatic  perception  and  at  the  same  time  so  just  a  regard 
for  the  main  outlines  of  history  as  in  Miss  Openshaw's  book." — 
Glasgow  Herald. 

"The  story  is  so  fascinating  that  the  reader  closes  the  book  only 
when  he  has  reached  the  last  page.  '  The  Loser  Pays '  will  be  suc- 
cessful because  the  author  has  a  good  story  to  tell  It  may  be  rec- 
ommended to  all  who  like  a  dashing,  romantic  story  full  of  inci- 
dent." —  Glasgow  Citizen. 

"  There  is  really  fine  description  of  the  September  massacres.  The 
story  deserves  more  than  a  transient  place  among  recent  fiction  of 
the  Great  Revolution." — The  Outlook  {London). 


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AN  AMERICAN  AND  AN  ENGLISH  NOVEL  OF 
PERMANENT    IMPORTANCE 


THE  ROAD  TO  DAMASCUS 

By  H.  A.  MITCHELL  KEAYS 

Author  of  "He  That  Eateth  Bread  with  Me,"  etc. 
$1.50  postpaid 

The  story  of  a  young  wife  who,  when  it  is  proved  to  her  that 
another  woman's  boy  should  call  her  own  husband  father,  adopts 
the  boy  without  ever  letting  her  husband  know.  From  this  basic 
theme  Mrs.  Keays  develops  a  dramatic  and  powerful  story,  "  the 
finest  novel  of  social  import,"  says  Mr.  Percival  Pollard,  in  his  crit- 
ical volume,  "  Their  Day  in  Court,"  "  written  by  an  American  woman 
in  recent  times  ;  one  of  those  rare  books  proving  that  all  is  not  hope- 
lessly chaff  in  the  field  of  American  fiction.  '  The  Road  to  Damas- 
cus '  is  a  book,  and  contains  a  character,  worthy  of  long  life.  The 
character  of  Richarda  in  this  book  is  one  of  the  finest  ever  drawn  by 
an  American  woman  ;  the  book  itself  has  perhaps  the  broadest  view 
of  life  that  has  been  shown  on  our  side  of  the  water." 

"  A  novel  of  remarkable  power.  It  grips  the  attention  like  an 
Ibsen  drama." —  New  York  Times. 

"  It  is  all  true,"  says  Dean  Hodges,  "  true  to  human  nature  and 
the  laws  of  God." 

"I  took  up  the  'Road  to  Damascus'  after  dinner,"  says  Ida  M. 
Tarbell,  "  and  did  not  lay  it  down  until  the  end.  It  is  a  fascinating 
handling  of  a  difficult  problem  —  a  most  successful  handling,  too." 

BROKE  OF  COVENDEN 

By  J.  C.  SNAITH 

Author   of   "Araminta,"   "Fortune,"   "Mistress  Dorothy 
Marvin,"  etc. 
$1.50  postpaid 

A  remarkable  novel,  that  makes  ordinary  fiction  pale  in  com- 
parison. Mr.  Snaith  has  produced  a  book  that  holds  its  own  among 
those  of  Meredith,  Dickens,  and  Thackeray.  It  is  the  story  of  an 
English  country  family  of  the  present  day.  "  There  is  no  living 
writer  in  England  or  this  country  to  whom  it  would  not  be  a  credit." 

—  Springfield   Republican.    "  Almost   alone   of    recent    English    fic- 
tion, it  plays  with  equal  mastery  on  all  the  stops  of  human  emotion." 

—  New  York   Times.    "From  the  first  moment  Mr.   Snaith  makes 
your  attention  his  willing  slave,  you  read  with  that  rare  vacillation 
which  urges  you  to  hurry  forward  for  the  story  and  to  linger  for  the 
detail." — Atlantic  Monthly.     "An  exceedingly   lively  and  diverting 
tragic  comedy  of  men  and  old  acres.     Mr.  Snaith  has  invention,  en- 
ergy, and  ideas  of  his  own.     He  has  courage  and  sympathy  and  the 
sovereign  faculty  of  interesting  his  readers  in  the  fortunes  of  most 
of  his   dramatis  personae.     The   author   has   given   us  a   delightful 
heroine,  a  wholly  original  hero,  and  a  great  deal  of  entertainment, 
for  which  we  offer  him  our  hearty  thanks." — London  Spectator. 

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A  novelist   who    not   only  always  has  a  good  story  to  tell, 
but  also  has  something  to  toy. 


THE  POPULAR  NOVELS  OF 
FREDERICK  ORIN  BARTLETT 


THE  WEB  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SPIDER 

Illustrated  by  HARRISON  FISHER  and  CHARLES  M.  RELYEA 
$1.50  postpaid 

" '  The  Web  of  the  Golden  Spider '  starts  off  with  a  bang.  In- 
deed there  is  no  modern  tale  which  contains  so  many  astonishing 
and  unexpected  turns." —  Philadelphia  Inquirer.  "  Never  did  a  ro- 
mancer weave  a  more  tangled  web  of  mystery,  entwined  plots,  dan- 
ger and  bewilderment." —  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer.  "  It  will  keep  the 
reader  breathlessly  interested  from  cover  to  cover." — St.  Louis 
Globe-Democrat. 

THE  SEVENTH  NOON 

Illustrated  by  EDMUND  FREDERICK 
$1.50  postpaid 

"  Joy  !     Eureka  !  !     Jubilate  !  !  ! 

"  Hail  to  you,  Frederick  Orin  Bartlett,  and  also  the  top  of  the 
morning.  And  may  you  write  many  more  novels  as  fresh  and  ab- 
sorbing as  '  The  Seventh  Noon.'  Yea,  verily,  for  this  novel  really 
hath  a  new  and  unhackneyed  plot. 

"  The  thrill-starved  reader  glues  his  eyes  to  the  rapidly-turned 
pages  and  halts  not  for  food  or  sleeping.  One  vivid  climax  suc- 
ceeds another,  the  scene  ranging  from  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  to 
Chinatown,  from  Riverside  Drive  out  to  the  suburban  bungalow 
where  Peter  so  narrowly,  and  for  the  second  time,  escapes  murder. 
And  the  dramatic  end,  which  not  for  worlds  would  this  gratified 
reviewer  disclose  untimely,  is  all  that  might  be  hoped  from  the  good 
•  and  galloping  action  '  not  lost  but  gone  before.'  " —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

THE  PRODIGAL  PRO  TEM 

Illustrated  by  HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 

$1.50  postpaid 

The  gayest,  most  spirited  story  for  many  a  year,  with  a  deep 
undercurrent  of  fine  humanity.  "  Unquestionably  one  of  the  most 
charming  comedies  of  human  people  we  have  had  for  a  long  time." 
—  New  York  Herald. 

"Once  in  a  while  comes  a  story  that  is  just  the  sort  to  finish 
at  a  sitting,  satisfied.  Such  a  novel  is  Mr.  Bartlett's  latest.  He 
has  given  us  a  most  delightful  story  in  '  The  Prodigal  Pro  Tern.' " — 
Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  love  story  of  graceful  charm,  with  a  heroine  who's  sweetly 
womanly,  and  with  a  hero  we  like  heartily.  As  there  is  also  humor 
in  the  book,  lots  of  true,  happy  humor  of  the  best  American  variety, 
and  as  the  author's  style  is  full  of  life  and  picturesqueness  in  sim- 
plicity, one  recommends  '  The  Prodigal  Pro  Tern.'  " —  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

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STANDARD  AMERICAN  HUMOR 


By  GEORGE  HORACE  LORIMER 

LETTERS  FROM  A  SELF-MADE  MERCHANT 
TO  HIS  SON 

A  book  in  perpetual  demand  —  one  of  the  best  pieces  of  humor 
and  philosophy  that  America  has  produced. 

Illustrated  by  F.  R.  GRUGER 
$1.50  postpaid 

By  FINLEY  PETER  DUNNE 

MR.  DOOLEY  IN  PEACE  AND  WAR 

MR.  DOOLEY  IN  THE  HEARTS  OF  HIS 

COUNTRYMEN 

Two  volumes  that  have  never  lost  their  hold  on  the  affections  of 
the  American  public. 

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By  HOLMAN  F.  DAY 

KIN  O'KTAADN 

PINE  TREE  BALLADS 

UP  IN  MAINE 

Holman  Day's  famous  books  have  made  him  the  laureate  of  the 
Down  East  Yankee. 

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By  ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER 

PERKINS  OF  PORTLAND 

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his  problems  first  hand  — "  Murdock's   Soap  is  pure  soap.     If  you 
don't  believe  it,  bite  it"  —  is  the  classic  figure  of  advertising  humor. 
Illustrated,   $1.00  postpaid 

By  FLORENCE  TINSLEY  COX 

THE  CHRONICLES  OF  RHODA 

The  inimitable  autobiography  of  a  little  girl,  filled  with  the 
mingled  pathos  and  humor  of  childhood,  but  for  grown-up  readers, 
not  for  children. 

Illustrated  in  color  by  JESSIE  WILLCOX  SMITH. 
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By  VENITA  SEIBERT 

THE  GOSSAMER  THREAD 

Like  "  Rhoda,"  Miss  Seibert's  heroine,  "  Velleda,"  is  a  little  girl 
—  a    German-American  —  but   her  book  is   for   grown   people   who 
want  to  look  back  to  their  own  childish  affairs  and  notions. 
Illustrated  by  W.  T.  BENDA 
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S   M 

A 

L  L, 
P   u 

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b 

A   Y 

1    i    s 

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A   R   D 

e    r   s, 

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B 

C    0 

o    s    t 

M    P 
o    n 

A   N 

Y 

STANDARD  AMERICAN  HUMOR 


By  ROBERT  ALEXANDER  WASON 

HAPPY  HAWKINS 

Happy  is  a  cowboy  of  the  plains,  but  he  is  more  than  that,  he  is 
one  of  the  most  lovably  humorous  philosophers  in  American  litera- 
ture "  American  humor  in  its  best  estate,"  says  the  Nation. 

Illustrated  by  HOWARD   GILES.      $1.50  postpaid 
By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS 

UNCLE  REMUS  AND  THE  LITTLE  BOY 

This  is  the  latest  and  last  Uncle  Remus  book,  and  like  its 
predecessors,  is  an  unqualified  delight.  Young  and  old  will  rejoice 
at  "  The  Story  of  the  Doodang,"  "  Brer  Rabbit  and  the  Pimmerly 
Plum,"  and  the  many  others. 

Hlustrated  by  J.  M.  CONDE.     $1.25  postpaid 
By  GRACE  DONWORTH 

THE  LETTERS  OF  JENNIE  ALLEN 

"Jennie  Allen  has  come  to  stay,  we  think,  beside  some  predeces- 
sors of  fame.  There  is  no  dull  page  in  the  letters.  One  will  laugh 
oneself  into  conniptions  over  their  quaintness,  and  recover  to  absorb 
a  deep  and  sober  truth  beneath."  —  St.  Louis  Times. 

DOWN  HOME  WITH  JENNIE  ALLEN 

"  Rarely  is  a  sequel  as  good  as  that  of  which  it  is  a  continuation  ; 
still  more  rarely  is  it  better.  But  Miss  Donworth  has  achieved  the 
rarest  success.  She  has  reached  a  finer  strain  of  humor  and  a  deep- 
er vein  of  homely  philosophy  than  in  her  earlier  volume,  admirable 
as  that  was.  Seldom  indeed  is  there  published  so  wholesome,  so 
tender,  so  brave,  or  so  humorous  a  book  as  this." — San  Francisco 
Argonaut. 

fc     Both  books  are  illustrated  by  F.  R.  GRUGER 
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THE  EARLY  AMERICAN  HUMORISTS 

Representative  selections  from  the  work  of  the  best  American 
humorists,  from  the  early  beginnings  to  the  last  generation,  such  as 
Benjamin  Franklin,  Artemus  Ward,  Bill  Arp,  Augustus  B.  Long- 
street,  John  Phoenix,  Orpheus  C.  Kerr,  Mrs.  Partington,  Petroleum 
V.  Nasby,  Josh  Billings,  and  many  others. 

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net;  by  mail,  80  cents;  flexible  leather,  $1.00  net; 

by  mail,  $1.05 

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"  Mr.  Walter  Prichard's  Eaton's  essays  and  criticisms 
on  the  contemporary  American  stage,"  says  Life,  "  have 
attracted  attention  because  oi  their  scholarly  atmosphere 
and  their  sound  judgment.  He  is  an  interesting  writer." 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE  OF  TO-DAY 

By  WALTER  PRICHABD  EATON 
Formerly  Dramatic  Critic  of  the  "New  York  Sun" 

A  vital  treatment  of  the  drama  in  America  as  it  is  developing  at 
the  present  day.  Until  the  publication  of  this  volume,  in  1908, 
almost  ten  years  had  passed  since  the  appearance  of  any  similar 
work,  and  during  that  time  important  changes  had  marked  the 
evolution  of  the  stage  in  this  country. 

Mr.  Eaton's  style  is  always  piquant  and  illuminating;  his  contri- 
bution to  the  literature  of  the  theatre  fascinating  and  informing. 
"  The  American  Stage  of  To-day "  is  a  full  book,  stimulating  the 
reader  to  a  new  understanding  of  the  meaning  and  the  value  of  our 
time  in  the  progress  of  the  American  stage.  Some  of  the  twenty- 
nine  chapters  are  :  "  Our  Infant  Industry,"  "  The  Witching  Hour," 
"  Paid  in  Full,"  "  The  Servant  in  the  House,"  "  Our  Leading 
Actor,"  "  Kisses  and  David  Belasco,"  "  Observations  in  the  Drama," 
"  The  Confessions  of  a  Critic." 

"  It  would  be  well  for  our  stage  if  every  theatregoer  should  study 
Mr.  Eaton's  book." —  Life.  "  Bright  and  graphic." —  New  York 
Times.  "  Will  further  the  interests  of  good  plays  and  a  better 
stage."  —  Professor  Richard  Burton  in  the  Bellman.  "  Walter 
Prichard  Eaton  has  made  himself  the  most  talked  of  and  most  gen- 
erally approved  writer  on  stage  subjects  in  the  metropolis." — Chicago 
Tribune.  "  He  is  no  formal  critic  ;  he  does  not  write  to  instruct 
his  readers  in  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  stage  ;  he  seeks  to 
give  them  a  pictorial  view  and  a  graphic  understanding  of  its  fleet- 
ing panorama.  He  entertains  us  even  while  he  enlightens  us." — 
Boston  Transcript.  "Informing  to  the  student  who  feels  an  intel- 
ligent interest  in  the  contemporary  drama." —  Dial.  "  The  volume 
is  an  admirable  illustration  of  what  dramatic  criticism  might  be, 
discriminating  and  with  keen  sense." —  The  World  To-day.  "  It 
gives  the  reader  unmixed  delight." —  Smart  Set.  "  Mr.  Eaton  writes 
well,  with  fulness  of  knowledge  and  with  philosophic  judgment." 
—  The  Theatre.  "  We  cordially  recommend  this  book." —  The 
Mask. 

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"  Mr.  Eaton  is  scholarly,  sane  and  sympathetic  as  well 
as  critical.  He  is  also  •witty,  and  the  combination  oi  these 
qualities  makes  him  eminently  readable." — George  Seibel 
in  the  Pittsburgh  Gaxette-Times. 


AT  THE  NEW  THEATRE  AND  OTHERS 

The  American  Stage 
Its  Problems  and  Performances 

1908-1910 
By  WALTER  PBICHARD  EATON 

Author  of  "The  American  Stage  of  Today" 

After  an  introductory  chapter  on  the  Theatrical  Syndicate,  Mr. 
Eaton  divides  his  book  into  three  parts,  the  first  dealing  with  the 
first  year  at  the  New  Theatre,  the  second  with  plays  produced 
elsewhere,  the  third  with  varied  dramatic  topics. 

The  chapter  heads  are :  Part  I :  "  A  Year  at  the  New  Theatre  — 
Summary,"  "  Strife,  a  Dramatic  Debate,"  '  Mr.  Sheldon  Wrestles 
and  Is  Thrown,"  " '  Don '  and  '  Liz,  the  Mother,' "  "  Salem  via 
Scandinavia,"  "Bridegrooms  and  the  French  Revolution,"  "'Sister 
Beatrice '  and  '  Brand,'  "  " '  The  Winter's  Tale '  without  Scenery," 
"  Beethoven  —  a  Dramatic  Biography  " ;  Part  II :  "  The  Easiest 
Way,"  "  Miss  Nethersole  as  Muckraker,"  "  John  Drew  Goes  to  Bed," 
"  Mr.  Thomas's  New  Birth,"  " '  Israel '  and  the  Happy  Ending," 
'  'Herod '  at  Last,"  "  A  Tempest  in  a  Teapot,"  "  Mr.  Klein  Tackles 
the  Courts,"  "  Booth  Tarkington,  Sophomore,"  "  Miss  Barrymore  in 
'  Mid-Channel/  "  "  Miss  Crothers  Champions  Her  Sex,"  "  Pillars  of 
Society'  and  Mrs.  Fiske,"  "  'Little  Eyolf '  and  Nazimova,"  "  Her 
Husband's  Wife,' "  "  The  Bad  Morals  of  Good  Plays,"  "  Bare  Feet 
and  Beethoven " ;  Part  III :  "  Some  Popular  Errors  in  the  Judg- 
ment of  Acting,"  "  Great  Acting  and  the  Modern  Drama,"  "  A  Plea 
for  Operetta,"  "  The  Dramatist  as  a  Man  of  Letters :  the  case  of 
Clyde  Fitch,"  "William  Winter  —  An  Appreciation,"  "Organizing 
Audiences  —  the  Drama  League  of  America,"  "The  Cheap  Theatre 
and  the  Young,"  "  The  Unconceited  Dramatists'  Club." 

"  It  is  a  clever  and  entertaining  book,  full  of  sharp  observation 
and  lively  humor  and  a  wholesome  spirit  of  independence.  Mr. 
Eaton  knows  the  contemporaneous  theatre  well,  has  ideas  of  his 
own  and  expresses  them  with  indisputable  ability.  About  the  work 
of  the  New  Theatre  he  writes  with  point  and  discernment  and  his 
papers  on  Clyde  Fitch  and  Augustus  Thomas  are  both  excellent." — 
Nation. 

"  The  essay,  '  The  Cheap  Theatre  and  the  Young,'  is  one  of  the 
rare  treatises  on  this  subject,  which,  because  of  their  moderation, 
defy  contradiction  in  any  particular.  Its  careful,  unbiassed  perusal 
is  recommended  to  legislators  and  municipal  authorities  in  the  earn- 
est hope  that  they  may  take  heed  lest  the  implied  predictions  in  Mr. 
Eaton's  observations  of  the  damage  bound  to  be  done,  and  to  the 
future  come  true." — Brooklyn  Citizen. 

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BOOKS  BY  CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  GILMAN 


WOMEN  AND  ECONOMICS 

A  Study  of  the  Economic  Relation  between  Men  and  Women 
as  a  Factor  in  Social  Evolution 

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The  fact  that  this  book  has  gone  through  many  editions  in  America 
and  Great  Britain,  and  that  it  has  also  been  translated  into 
Dutch,  German,  Italian,  French,  and  Russian,  proves  that  it  ex- 
presses in  a  striking  way  its  analysis  and  explanation  of  woman's 
position  in  modern  society  and  its  remedial  plans  for  the  future. 
Speaking,  in  What  Eight  Million  Women  Want,  of  the  differ- 
ences between  the  accepted  opinions  and  ideals  of  men  and  women, 
Mrs.  Rheta  Childe  Dorr  says,  "  Back  of  the  differences  lie  centuries 
of  different  habits,  different  duties,  different  ambitions,  different 
opportunities,  different  rewards.  I  shall  not  here  attempt  to  outline 
what  the  differences  have  been  or  why  they  have  existed.  Char- 
lotte Perkins  Gilman,  in  Women  and  Economics,  did  this  before  me 
—  did  it  so  well  that  it  need  never  be  done  again." 

CONCERNING  CHILDREN 

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Original  and  helpful  essays  looking  toward  the  better  understand- 
ing of  children  and  their  more  sensible  and  healthy  development. 
Notable  for  the  soundness  of  its  philosophy,  its  charm  of  style,  and 
the  piquancy  of  its  wit. 

"  Every  parent  ought  to  read  this  book." — The  Outlook. 

IN  THIS  OUR  WORLD 

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Mr.  Howells,  in  Harper's  Weekly,  has  called  this  verse  the  best 
civic  satire  which  America  has  produced  since  "  The  Biglow 
Papers." 

THE  YELLOW  WALL  PAPER 

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"  A  conceit  fantastical  enough  to  have  emanated  from  the  brain 
of  Edgar  Poe.  It  is  written  with  remarkable  vividness,  as  if  the 
writer  had  experienced  something  very  like  [that]  which  she  de- 
scribes. The  story  has  a  purely  literary  justification,  but  is  none 
the  worse  for  teaching  a  lesson  which  some  husbands  and  parents 
would  do  well  to  heed." — The  Christian  Register. 


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"  To  the  American  representatives  of  the  eight  million  —  the  eight  hundred 
thousand  members  of  the  General  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  —  this  volume  is 
dedicated." 


WHAT   EIGHT   MILLION   WOMEN   WANT 

By   RHETA  CHILDE  DORR 
Profusely  illustrated  from  photographs.    $2.00  net;  by  mall,  $3.30. 

"Woman's  place  is  Home.  But  home  is  not  contained  within  the 
four  walls  of  an  individual  home.  Home  is  the  community.  The 
city  full  of  people  is  the  Family."  This  is  the  theme  of  "What  Eight 
Million  Women  Want,"  an  interpretation  of  the  collective  opinion 
of  women,  which,  through  the  activities  of  the  women  —  the  eight 
million  members  of  the  affiliated  societies  of  the  International  Coun- 
cil of  Women  —  who  have  consciously  organized  themselves  into 
clubs  and  associations  for  the  purpose  of  self-improvement  and  civic 
betterment  in  every  way,  is  receiving  expression  for  the  first  time 
since  the  world  began.  Emphatically  the  book  is  not  a  discussion  of 
the  suffrage  question;  far  broader  than  that,  it  is  a  detailed  state- 
ment of  the  things  that  effective  women  are  doing  and  thinking  in 
the  world  today. 

The  author's  reasons  for  considering  their  collective  aims  and 
efforts  are,  first,  broadly,  that  it  is  a  matter  of  self-interest  for  men 
to  examine  the  present  ideals  of  women ;  and  second,  the  invasion 
of  industry  by  woman  is  the  most  important  economic  fact  of  our 
day;  the  increase  of  divorce  is  the  most  important  social  fact  since 
slavery;  and  the  suffrage  movement  is  the  most  important  political 
fact  of  the  present  time.  The  book  is  essentially  constructive.  The 
following  is  the  list  of  chapters : 

I.  Introductory;  II.  From  Culture  Clubs  to  Social  Service;  III. 
European  Women  and  the  Salic  Law ;  IV.  American  Women  and 
the  Common  Law ;  V.  Women's  Demands  on  the  Rulers  of  Indus- 
try; VI.  Making  Over  the  Factory  from  the  Inside;  VII.  Breaking 
the  Great  Taboo;  VIII.  Woman's  Helping  Hand  for  the  Prodigal 
Daughter ;  IX.  The  Servant  in  Her  House ;  X.  Votes  for  Women ; 
XI.  Conclusion. 

"  An  exhaustive  study  of  woman  in  the  house,  in  the  store  or  factory,  in  the  club, 
in  the  crusade  and  in  the  economic  scheme  of  affairs." — New  York  World. 

"  A  very  effective  presentation." — The  Churchman. 

"  A  notable  contribution  to  the  sociological  studies  of  the  times.  It  is  broad  in 
its  research,  noble  in  purpose,  and  admirable  in  spirit.  The  author  has  equipped 
herself  with  facts  and  has  stated  facts  and  opinions  in  a  fascinating,  illuminating 
and  convincing  way." — Journal  of  Education. 

"  A  volume  of  more  than  ordinary  value  because  it  assembles  in  book  form  a  mass 
of  material  particularly  valuable  to  club  women  and  to  all  interested  in  their 
achievements." — St.  Paul  Dispatch. 


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